Ante Noctem
by Nos-Lowarn
Summary: What was Sephiroth like before he went mad, before he met Zack? A year after his entry into SOLDIER, he finds himself facing an ultimatum and evaluating a pair of rookies who insist on getting under his skin. T for swearing and violence. Fic is dead.
1. Chapter 1

_1600_

_18/11/90_

_Junon SOLDIER Barracks_

_2__nd__ Praetorians Bunkroom_

Somewhere, in a quiet corner of the Junon SOLDIER barracks, everything burnt. Flames whirled across the room, cutting swathes of destruction through bunks, cupboards, foot lockers, even bulkheads. With crackles of laughter they drew ever closer to one tiny, insignificant speck of flesh and blood. Their descent was outpaced only by the rate of the speck's breathing, but not for long. All breath stopped with a gasp as the fire found him, caressing him with scorching fingers, leaving trails of charred flesh in their wake. A scream formed in his throat, but smoke and ash blocked its path. He reached and flailed, grasping only empty air.

Swathed in the inferno, his flesh dried, cracked and blackened. Eyeballs shrivelled in their sockets, leaving him with only the whisper of flames, taste of smoke, scent of ash and ceaseless pain of the scorch-marks that tore through his body. Every nerve and sinew cried out for water, for release, for an end, until the fire snuffed them out – then they could only shriek. He scrabbled wildly, though his scorched and useless hands told him nothing. Fear coursed through his veins as he realised he knew nothing of where he was or what was happening. He knew only the flames that danced across him.

Then the sky fell. Ten thousand tonnes of rubble crashed down upon his chest, once again stealing the breath from his lungs. Not even the impact, however, could dislodge the scream so firmly stuck in his throat, nor could it choke away the firestorm. Beyond the cage of debris the flames crackled, calling, ever calling. With hushed voices they offered freedom, quietus, death. How he longed to go to it, to have it sear away the terror and stone that locked him in place, to cauterise the wounds and to reduce him to nothingness where such fear could never reach him again.

Another voice joined the murmurs – a voice vaguely familiar in tone and pitch, but unintelligible above the fire and the screams in his mind. The sounds mingled into one as the voice grew louder and battled the hum of the fire. At last, a single word penetrated –

"Sir!"

Just as quickly as it emerged, however, was it swallowed by the blaze. Nonetheless, it continued, undaunted by its task of reaching one small fragment of humanity. More and more splintered words broke through, then splintered sentences, then a name.

"Sephiroth!"

He writhed beneath the wreckage in an attempt to see whoever was calling, ignoring the conspicuous absence of his eyes. No use; what was once the roof held him fast. Even so, the voice had sparked a tiny flare of hope. He struggled and wriggled in an almost convulsive manner, desperate to free himself of his confines. The voice of the fire faded and the weight of the rubble seemed to lift away, raised by some benevolent god. As it did so blessed air rushed into his lungs – fresh, clean air, untainted by smoke or embers. His flesh knitted back together, and eyes returned to their sockets.

He opened his newborn eyes.

Staring back at him were a dozen faces he didn't quite recognise, lit from behind by the glowing strip-lights of a bunkroom. Beneath him was a soft but lumpy and unmade bed, belonging to someone other than him. The smell of the sheets registered somewhere in his brain as familiar, but the whirl of thoughts in his mind kept him from identifying it.

Glowing, cat-like eyes darted between them as they tried to take in what was happening. One spoke with the voice that had called to him – a small, thickset young man, not quite an adult but definitely not a child. "Can you see me, boss?"

Words refused to come. His tongue wouldn't move, so a nod sufficed as a response. Only as he tried to speak did he realise that his breath was racing out of control. Within the same second he had inhaled several times, so working out what was happening could wait. Count your breaths. Slow down. In, out. Chest up, chest down. Slow the breathing, slow the heart, slow the release of adrenaline, clear the mind.

Little by little, each breath took ever so slightly longer than the last. The adrenaline high was replaced by the adrenaline low, and pure exhaustion washed over him. Too tired now to breathe so quickly or to maintain the race of his heartbeat, his body slowed almost to a halt.

Even without the adrenaline coursing through his system, he was fearful. None of the faces had names or recognisable intentions, and the light behind them took his mind back to an earlier time, when people without faces or names would stare down at him from in front of those searing, terrible lights…

No. Focus. Don't think about that. Concentrate. What happened?

Before he could move his mind to working out exactly what was going on, the slam of a door and the descent of a man whose chevrons declared that he was a staff sergeant ripped his thoughts away. "I leave the building for ten minutes and… All right. What the fuck just happened?"

The entire congregation hesitated as it collectively turned to face the newcomer. To the sergeant's augmented sense of smell, their nervousness was clear as running water. The scuffle of sheets brought his eyes briefly to the bed, where the young man lying there burrowed to try and hide his face. None of the others noticed it, or if they did they didn't turn to look.

Of those who had seen the incident, only one dared to speak. The not-yet-a-man who had spoken earlier seemed to have the least trouble finding his voice, and began to explain what had happened. "We… were just talking and then, Sephiroth – Lieutenant Faremis – just started screaming. He fell to the floor and thrashed about like he were being attacked or summat. We guessed he were hallucinating, so we got him onto Merrick's bed and pinned him there."

The sergeant's voice fell sharply in pitch. "You pinned him."

Pale, almost white eyes widened and their tell-tale SOLDIER glow heightened. "Y-yes sergeant."

The sergeant dropped his head to his chest and clasped his hands behind his neck. "Right. Kedner, I want a word with you later. The rest of you, piss off and give the man some space. Merrick, go find someone else to bug, we need your bunk for a bit." He brought his arms back down and folded them about his chest as the congregation scuttled back to their business. A few paused to see what would happen, but a glare would quickly send them on their way.

With careful, padding steps, he approached the bed on which his lieutenant lay curled up and shaking. "Sephiroth?" The shuddering ball didn't respond at first, but a tiny turn of the head told him that he had been heard.

After a moment, the lieutenant found his tongue at last. "Who's… who's there?"

"It's me. Muldoon." At last, a familiar name. The floodgates of Sephiroth's mind burst open, releasing a tide of memory and understanding. Confusion fled to the dark corners of his psyche again, and the fear gave way to shame. He bit back a curse, then began to speak.

"I'm sorry… I didn't… One minute I was in the bunkroom, and then I…" Even with his newfound voice, Sephiroth struggled to get the words past his lips. He kneaded the sheets beneath him, clenching then releasing his hands without fully realising that he was doing so.

"Don't apologise, kid. Don't you dare apologise for what you are. Shinra made you a SOLDIER, and they have no right to complain when the side effects show up." Muldoon perched on the edge of the bed and moved his eyes to the floor, perhaps worrying that the lieutenant was uncomfortable under his gaze.

The young man swallowed a lump in his throat. "I should've… kept my head… I'm supposed to be in charge here."

"For crying out loud, that bunch of misfits are perfectly capable of looking after themselves for a bit." Muldoon rolled his eyes, unfolded his arms and clutched the side of the bed. He decided to try a different angle. "You've been hallucinating a lot lately, haven't you?"

"…No more than usual, sergeant."

"I'd like to call bullshit on that one." The younger man's head perked up, now looking Muldoon straight in the face.

"Excuse me?" Sephiroth said, with the slightest edge of 'I-don't-want-to-have-this-conversation'. Muldoon either didn't notice it or ignored it, as he continued.

"You've had six episodes in half as many weeks. That's got to mean something."

The silver-haired man started chewing his lip, an action his comrade had seen many times before. "It's… it's probably just the increased mako dosage I've been on since I was promoted."

For a moment, Muldoon had thought he'd been onto something. His shoulders fell – he wasn't convinced by a word Sephiroth said, but now wasn't the time to push it. "Yeah, I guess you're right. You going to be okay?"

Sephiroth nodded.

"You want me to send Banner over?"

"I'm fine, sergeant."

"Good. I want you in one piece for tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bollocking to administer." With a smile that seemed entirely inappropriate, Muldoon stood up and walked away. As he did so, Sephiroth racked his brain for what was happening tomorrow. His mind was still muzzy – he recalled the sergeant mentioning something about it, but he couldn't quite remember what.

Then it hit him.

"Oh, no."

* * *

Rostis stood at parade rest while simultaneously trying to look very small and inoffensive. Staff Sergeant Muldoon stared at him for a few moments, waiting for the gravity of the situation to settle. "Name and rank." Rostis hesitated for a second, partly in bewilderment and partly in fear.

"…SOLDIER Second Class Corporal Rostis Kedner, sergeant."

"Precisely. _Corporal_. Just because you impressed my superiors enough to be named a Second doesn't mean you can ignore protocol."

"Sergeant, I – "

"You blatantly disregarded safety procedure, that's what! Dammit, Kedner, Faremis is a First, and rightly so. If he'd been scared enough, which might I add you were well on your way to making him, he'd have killed you." Muldoon paused, waiting to see if Rostis would try and justify himself.

"Sergeant… the way he were thrashing, I… I genuinely thought he were gonna hurt himself. Or someone else. His hallucinations have been getting out of control, sergeant." Rostis said. Behind his back, he fiddled with the base of his shirt in an attempt to divert his attention from the impending chew-out.

"You're lucky he didn't. If you were so worried, why the hell didn't you come and get me? You know the drill. Any cause for concern, fetch a senior officer. And you most certainly do not attempt to restrain someone who's freaking out unless they're actually trying to kill someone." As Muldoon growled at him, Rostis' eyes wandered to his feet. "Look at me, dammit!" Rostis' head snapped back up, his back stiffened and his eyes widened. The sergeant didn't need to look at Rostis to know he was afraid. The smell of it hung in the air thick enough to choke.

"Sergeant, I couldn't leave him – "

"Then you should have sent one of the bloody audience! Half the damn platoon was there, doing an awful lot of fuck all." Rostis remained silent. His eyes flickered away from his superior's, only occasionally returning out of fear. "Well?" Muldoon's eyes bore into the corporal, and he folded his arms and waited. Rostis breathed in heavily as he tried to put his erratic thoughts into words.

"I… I were scared, sergeant. Scared of what he'd do. I didn't want to take my eye off him, even for a moment."

"Maybe if you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Fear is no excuse, Kedner. Fear is how you're meant to live. Basic should've taught you that."

Again, Rostis was silent.

* * *

Three hours later, the corporal was finally done raking the dirt outside Muldoon's office. Free at last, he was determined to spend the next half-hour with only himself and the page-three girls. He shuffled down the corridor towards the bunkroom and gazed down at his feet.

"Rostis."

With a slightly too-feminine yelp, he whirled around and found himself staring into the green, cat-like eyes of Lieutenant Sephiroth Faremis. Oh dear.

"Shit, sir, I – I'm really – " Rostis stumbled over the words. His feet had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the corridor.

"Later. Right now, we have a problem." His voice held no resentment or anger, but that still did nothing to assuage Rostis' worry.

The corporal narrowed his eyes, trying to appear more confident than he actually was. "What sort of problem?"

"A large one. Get the platoon together as soon as you can make it inconspicuous."

"Inconspicuous as in, don't tell Muldoon? What the hell are you planning?" The nervousness had left Rostis' voice now, replaced by mild amusement. A slight smile worked its way onto his face which he didn't bother to conceal.

"I'll explain later. Just organise the meeting – they'll listen to your word more than mine right now."

With a chuckle, Rostis nodded his agreement, and Sephiroth turned to leave. "And Kedner," Sephiroth said, "this doesn't reach Muldoon. If he realises that we've forgotten about this…"

"Wait, what? Forgotten about what?" Rostis received no answer. Sephiroth was already at the far end of the corridor, scooping up a pile of papers that lay on a table. The corporal simply stared in confusion and disbelief. "What… the… fuck?"

* * *

Still, orders are orders, regardless of whether they're explained or, as Rostis suspected wasn't the case, entirely legitimate. As he stared at his watch, staring back at him was the entirety of the 2nd Praetorians, a platoon with a reputation for little patience. Nobody knew why they'd been called together, and with such urgency, but rumours had materialised almost as soon as word got out that there was to be a meeting. Some said that there were promotions involved, others that somebody was being transferred, and one particular nutter was convinced that Sephiroth was resigning.

A creak shifted all eyes to the door, and a rather flustered lieutenant hurried in with even more papers in his arms than Rostis had last seen him with. He dropped them on a table that had been dragged to the centre of the bunkroom as was customary for emergency meetings, and took a moment to collect himself before he began. "Gentlemen. Thank you all for getting here promptly.

"You may recall that HQ has decided that we don't have enough maniacs here already and has sent us six rookies, arriving tomorrow." All background murmurs stopped dead. "Did anybody here actually remember?" A few whispers confirmed that at least some of them had, but the vast majority remained silent. "Brilliant."

The silence erupted into chatter as people tried to ascertain precisely _how_ they had managed to forget about a group of incoming rookies. The prevailing argument was mako-induced mass amnesia, a phenomenon not entirely unknown to the force but far less frequent than was popularly believed. More likely was the idea that nobody had actually been paying any attention when they were told about it.

An uncomfortable feeling settled over the group. Slowly, the chatter gave why to quiet again as people turned to face the lieutenant, who simply glared back with folded arms. Once everyone was silent, he began again. "We have all of about three hours before lights out. This place needs to be squared away by morning. That means no nude calendars, no stills and definitely no inflatable sheep."

"Oh come on, sir, it was one time! Let it go!" piped Rostis from the back of the crowd.

Sephiroth ignored him. "They arrive at 0900 sharp. If this place isn't spotless by then, the owner of the offending bunk will be on night watch for a week. Understand?"

A chorus of 'yes, sir!'s answered him. Sephiroth nodded, scooped up his papers and watched through bleary eyes as the bunkroom descended into the chaos of tidying up. Only now, as the old, quiet ache crept into his bones, did it occur to him just how tired he was.

* * *

No matter how much Sephiroth wanted to curl up and fall asleep, there was work to be done. Slumped in a chair in the office he shared with Muldoon and several other officers and NCOs, he looked over the paperwork he had been accumulating. Apparently, he had remembered the rookies when sorting out the supply requisition forms, which just raised further questions as to how he'd later completely forgotten about them. Probably the exhaustion, he supposed. He hadn't slept well since his promotion to First Class two months ago and sported permanent dark rings under his eyes.

Sephiroth looked over at the clock on the wall. 1940. Still hours before he could justify going to bed. He forced his attention back to the neglected files in front of him. Six rookies, fresh out of Basic. Two had passed out with distinction, and the covering letter assured him that the other four were top of their game as well. He stifled a yawn as his eyes flickered over the first of the distinguished grunts' records.

"Fancy a brew, Faremis?" Muldoon's voice pulled Sephiroth from his reading.

"Yes. Yes I do." Sephiroth rarely turned down the offer of coffee, and right now he needed it. He skimmed over the file in front of him as Muldoon headed out to the kitchenette attached to the office, and his eyes widened as they stopped over a certain passage. "Sergeant,"

Muldoon poked his head around the partition. "Hm?"

"Why is one of the rookies on antipsychotics? If he's going to endanger the men –"

The sergeant walked in and plucked the file from Sephiroth's hands. "Oh, Rhapsodos? I contacted his lieutenant; apparently they're prescribed off-label. Anxiety, insomnia, that sort of thing. I was assured he's not going to go nuts any time soon. He's more doped up on drugs than you are, so he's pretty placid."

Sephiroth harrumphed and took the file back from his sergeant. While his SOLDIER nose told him Muldoon was being honest, or at least lying very, very well, he wasn't convinced. Sephiroth went back to his reading, finding little else of note apart from a conspicuous section of text which had been redacted. The next file, the other distinguished recruit, also lacked what was presumably the same section. A quick look through the rest of the papers showed that none of the other recruits were missing this data, just the two with distinctions. He pondered this for a moment before Muldoon pulled him out of his thoughts. "Kid?"

Sephiroth looked up, eyes narrowed at both the nickname and the interruption. He made a show of putting down the papers and waited for Muldoon to continue.

"I've had a word with the medical department. They want to check you over, make sure there's nothing wrong up here," Muldoon tapped his head "or anywhere else. They're getting worried about your episodes."

Sephiroth's shoulders fell. "I'm fine, sergeant. Honestly, I'm fine." He picked up the papers again and focused his attention on them. Of course, Muldoon would keep talking. It just made him feel like he was ending the conversation.

The older man gave him a half-hearted smile. "Look, just let them give you a once-over. It won't hurt."

"It's not going to be a once-over, Muldoon. Any concern about my health and I go straight back to Midgar. Straight back to…" The lieutenant trailed off, still refusing to look up. Shaking hands clutched the papers harder, and Muldoon was reminded that he was addressing a fifteen-year-old.

Muldoon pulled his chair over and sat down in front of Sephiroth. "Maybe they can do it under the radar. Nobody else has to know." He moved his head to try and look the young man in the eye, but Sephiroth turned his head away.

"He'll know. He always knows."

* * *

_**Extracted From SOLDIER Medical Archives**_

_The senses of a SOLDIER are some of the most remarkable known to man. Every sense is heightened almost beyond imagining – a SOLDIER can hear sounds far above and below the normal range of human hearing and can see objects in far more detail than most – a select few can even see into the ultraviolet spectrum, although colour vision is more frequently lost than gained (particularly in the red spectrum – few SOLDIERs are able to see the colour red, and those that are generally have poorer eyesight than their comrades). Most fascinating, however, is the SOLDIER's extraordinary sense of smell. The SOLDIER sense of smell can be roughly compared to that of a dog; they are able to identify emotional scent cues, and can note the anxiety scents that usually accompany dishonesty. Furthermore, with practice, a SOLDIER can learn to track by his nose just as well, if not better, than he can with his eyes. Indeed, many rely on their noses for direction and orientation, a fact that can make urban combat difficult.

* * *

_

_For the curious, I've been through at least five openings for this story. I apologise for the brevity of the chapter but I'd rather be concise than get a mahoosive word count. I further apologise for my writing style – it's not terribly engaging, but this story is being written for practice. Critique is very welcome, but flames are not._

_The next chapter will be a bit more interesting – Genesis and Angeal turn up, for one thing, and the other background OCs get properly introduced as well, including the elusive Banner. Oh, and a cookie to whoever knows where Sephiroth's surname comes from._


	2. Chapter 2

_0430_

_19/11/90_

_Junon SOLDIER Barracks_

_Lt. Faremis' Bunk_

An arm reached out from under the bedcovers. It groped about on the table beside it, eventually coming to rest on top of an alarm clock. The clock was pulled back under the covers, and then hastily replaced as the occupant threw himself out of bed in a whirl of sheets. The young lieutenant looked behind himself, swore at the covers and began making his bed. First thing in the morning and he'd already made more work for himself.

Once he was convinced that not even Staff Sergeant Muldoon could find creases in the sheets, Sephiroth set to work on the rest of his kit. The boots at the foot of his bed were shining from being cleaned the night before, but the young man pulled them onto his lap and started polishing anyway. Today was going to be a bad day, and he didn't want it to be any worse than it had to be.

Apparently, neither did anybody else. Sounds from the nearby bunkroom indicated that many others had started the same morning ritual, all in expectation of something. The sound of scrubbing, shuffling and shaking out sheets ended up waking the entire bunkroom and many of the officers in their private rooms, to the relief of the frequent oversleepers.

Technically, Sephiroth didn't really need to square his room away. The rookies wouldn't be coming anywhere near it, but his inherent paranoia and compulsive tendencies told him to clean up anyway. Besides, it took his mind off what the rest of the day would involve.

What _would_ today involve?

Sephiroth chuckled softly, a sort of hwuff-huff-huff that made it obvious he hadn't laughed much over his lifetime. Days like this reminded him just how inexperienced he was. Presumably there would be the obligatory showing-around, and hopefully Sephiroth could persuade Muldoon to do most of the talking parts.

He checked the clock again. In a few short hours, the rookies would arrive from Midgar by airship, which didn't give him long to get everything in order. Sephiroth turned to his wardrobe, checking his dress blues for creases and brushing away the dust. A quick sniff test confirmed that they were fresh, so he set about getting dressed. His hair still sat in its morning tangle, but that could wait. A sudden wave of tiredness as he adjusted his jacket had reminded him that he'd forgotten to put the kettle on – easily remedied, but he'd have to wait for the thing to boil before he could get his caffeine fix.

And then the lights went out.

Instinct took over. Sephiroth backed up against a wall and inspected the room sight, sound and scent. Nobody was in there – he _knew_ nobody was in there – but he didn't want to take the risk. Despite the darkness, he could make out a fair bit of detail. No oddly moving shadows, no misplaced outlines. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his paranoia. He forced himself to relinquish the safety of the wall and picked his way across the room. Carefully, he laid a hand on the door handle, then hesitated. Nerves compelled him to breathe in deeply through his nose. While he couldn't tell whose scent it was, the unmistakeable smell of mint tea gave it away. He opened the door.

On the other side stood a middle-aged man in a chaplain's fatigues, with two cups of tea in his hands and a glowstick in his teeth. "'Oo 'or'in', eh-eh-ah." The newcomer offered one of the mugs of tea, which Sephiroth took without hesitation. It wasn't coffee, but it would do, especially as the kettle hadn't finished boiling when the power went out.

"Good morning, Banner."

The chaplain removed the glowstick from his mouth with his free hand and cleared his throat. "Good morning lieutenant. Can I have a word?" A sheepish smile apologised for the earlier gibberish. Silence and a step away from the door on Sephiroth's part acted as an affirmative, so Banner followed him in.

The sickly light of the glowstick led the chaplain to a chair as Sephiroth sat down on the bed. "Before you start," the younger man slipped back into the conversation, "what happened to the power?"

Banner exaggerated a sigh. "I'm not quite sure. I wouldn't be surprised if the generators have gone again. Goodness knows why the company can't just route power from the city's main reactor. Could be interesting, showing your recruits around in the dark."

"If the generators are down, the sappers should have them back online quickly."

A nod from Banner sufficed in the absence of anything else to say, and the lieutenant took a mouthful of tea as he waited for Banner to bring up whatever he came here for.

"Word has it that all is not right with you."

Of course. Everyone in Junon's SOLDIER detachment had heard about his psychotic episodes.

"Given that the psych department here is – if I may, sir – useless, I'm more-or-less in charge of your mental wellbeing. I just want to make sure you're all right." Compulsive habits always kicked in whenever Sephiroth was nervous, and the way he fiddled with the freshly laid-out sheets told Banner a lot.

"I'm all right. Really, I am." His voice didn't sound all right, but the chaplain didn't want to push it.

"Okay. I just worry about you, Sephiroth."

The lieutenant met Banner's gaze at last. "You worry about everyone."

"It's my job. Now don't you go giving me any more reason to worry about you, understand?" Banner smiled. "See you around." The chaplain got up and, without thinking, lay a hand on Sephiroth's shoulder. Realising his mistake as the lieutenant flinched, he pulled his hand away quickly. "Sorry." Banner received only a shake of the head as a reply. Dejected, he walked out, leaving his glowstick to light the room.

* * *

0900 came at last. The power had yet to come back on, and the sappers hadn't explained anything, just that they were frantically trying to get power back. Until then, the corridors were decked out with lanterns and chem-lights in an almost festive manner. To the six new recruits entering the 2nd Praetorians, it was somewhat underwhelming. While nobody dared to breathe a word, the unspoken consensus was along the lines of 'what the hell?'.

Their Basic unit's lieutenant had taken them through a labyrinth of buildings and security procedures into the yard outside the SOLDIER barracks, given them a few words of encouragement and promptly left. After a few minutes of standing at attention, a flustered staff sergeant emerged from the nearest building, looked about for their lieutenant and swore. "All right," he grumbled, "where the fuck is Lieutenant Brewer?" Nobody dared speak up. "Well?"

One of them finally found his voice. "He left, sergeant."

"He left." Muldoon glowered at the rookie who'd spoken, a heavily built young man with slick black hair.

"Yes, sergeant."

"Shit." So, the lieutenant didn't think they were worth waiting around for? Maybe the covering letter had been worth less than the paper it was printed on. "Okay. Let's ignore the blatant disregard for protocol for a minute and get down to business. I'm Staff Sergeant Jericho Muldoon, and" ('I'm an alcoholic', his mind instinctively filled in the gap) "welcome to the 2nd Praetorians. Firstly, if you think life on base will mean you can get away with not pulling your weight, get out of this yard." Nobody moved. That was a start, anyway. "Secondly, just because the Praetorians are technically a guarding company, it doesn't mean you won't see combat. The 2nd Praetorians are a fighting platoon, despite being stationed in Junon. You'll be sent out on combat missions soon enough."

Not one of the recruits showed any sign of agitation at the prospect of combat. While Muldoon's nose told him they were nervous, that could very well be from being inducted into a new platoon after Basic. He produced a sheet of paper from his pocket and continued. "Right. Dennon, Ciar?"

"Yes, sergeant!"

"Hewley, Angeal?"

"Yes sergeant!"

Muldoon called off the rest of names on the list, mentally ticking each one in turn and finishing with one 'Rhapsodos, Genesis'. "Good. Now, technically my boss should be making this speech, but, as you may have noticed, we've lost power and he's currently rushing about trying to figure out what's going on. He ought to be around here somewhere, so we're just gonna stand here, in the lovely November sun, until he decides to grace us with his presence, after which point I will hunt down your lieutenant and throw the book at him. Possibly literally."

For a city so close to the equator, Midgar was positively freezing in November. In Junon, on the other hand, it was early summer, and the sun beat down hard on the unfortunate recruits who had yet to become accustomed to being south of the equator. Much as they tried to pretend the weather was fine, Muldoon could smell the uncomfortable sweat.

A distraction from the mounting heat came in the form of the clomp of boots on tarmac. Seven pairs of eyes fell upon a slightly uneasy lieutenant with silver hair tied back in a ponytail. Six of those pairs of eyes widened as he approached; were they about to meet the great Sephiroth himself? Muldoon could almost taste the awe.

Ever aloof, however, Sephiroth completely ignored the recruits and addressed the man who was, technically, his subordinate. "Apparently, the entire generator system has become clogged with mako. The sappers think that it may have been a substandard shipment."

Muldoon rolled his eyes. "And naturally we get the cruddy mako." For a brief moment, the sergeant had forgotten there were rookies about and some semblance of formality was required. "Sir." He bit down hard on his tongue at Sephiroth's raised eyebrows.

Brushing off the surprise, Sephiroth turned to the recruits. Glowing cat-eyes settled on each one in turn, analysing, assessing. Height, weight, state of health, muscle density, lung capacity, anything he could estimate with his eyes or nose was noted. Physically, they were fine. They would have to be to have survived Basic.

The rookies looked back at him with unwavering, expectant gazes. He really ought to say something. Every time he tried to order his thoughts into a coherent speech, however, his mind went blank. He deliberately drew out the inspection in an attempt to buy himself more time to think. Nothing came. Okay, Faremis. What did they teach you in Basic? Improvise, adapt, overcome. Just make it up.

"Gentlemen," good start, keep it up "I am Lieutenant Sephiroth Faremis, platoon commander of the 2nd Praetorians." All right, what now? "I assume Staff Sergeant Muldoon has already welcomed you," just pretend you're confident "but I will take the opportunity to do so myself." I think they're buying it "Welcome aboard." Okay, that was awful. Don't panic, you can still salvage it "You've been deemed capable enough to join the Praetorians. I trust the faith of your superiors is well-placed." I think you can stop there.

Sephiroth's speech was followed by a pause that lasted a little too long. Eager to break the tension, Muldoon spoke up. "Well then, I'll be seeing you. I have a lieutenant to find."

Sephiroth cocked his head slightly. "I'm right here."

"What? No, no, not you – sir. Lieutenant Brewer, the one who brought the rookies in."

"Oh."

Muldoon saluted his lieutenant sharply – Sephiroth's eyes widened and he took a moment to remember that he had to respond. After a stunned second he saluted in return and watched as Muldoon took his leave. "All right," he said over his shoulder, "follow me."

* * *

Almost as soon as the lieutenant and his pack of new recruits entered the barracks were they intercepted by a chaplain wearing a grin reminiscent of a six-year-old. "Good morning, good morning!" Banner extended his hand to each of the rookies in turn, shaking their hands a little too vigorously. "I'm Chaplain Montague Banner, but you can just call me Banner, everyone else does. Anyway, welcome to the Praetorians. I hope to be seeing you all around – not with any problems, mind you. Do pop into my office any time you want a chat or some decent tea, won't you?"

The rookies just stood there looking at Banner, nervous and somewhat overwhelmed. Slightly more used to Banner's overpowering sociality, Sephiroth simply nodded. "I'm sure they will, Banner. Now, if you'll excuse us..?"

"Oh, of course. Terribly sorry, I know you must have more pressing matters to attend to. Normally I'd take you all for a spot of tea to get acquainted, but I can't boil a kettle without electricity." Sidelong glances among the rookies suggested to Sephiroth that they were just as relieved as he was. A nod acted as an unspoken 'goodbye' as Sephiroth moved past, followed by his gaggle of recruits.

Into the warren of the barracks they descended. To one familiar with the convoluted corridors and scent trails, such as Sephiroth, the journey was simple. He suspected, however, that the rookies had absolutely no idea where they were going, so showing them the mess hall, the gym, his office, the requisition clerk's office, Banner's office (twice if you counted backtracking to find a lost Genesis Rhapsodos), various other offices, the laundry and the latrines was more just to prove that they were there. Eventually, lamps and chem-lights directed the group towards a doorway no different to the countless ones they had already passed, except that above it was a sign reading 'BUNKROOM – 2ND PRAETORIANS (OTHER RANKS)'. Sephiroth shut his eyes as he opened the door, but forced himself to reopen them upon stepping through. The bunkroom was…

Clean?

Tidy?

Devoid of bizarre and/or illegal objects?

If he hadn't recognised each of the SOLDIERs who had snapped to attention the moment he entered, Sephiroth would have assumed he was in the wrong room. "At ease." Hopefully nobody could tell how shocked he was. A squared-away platoon should not be a surprise to a commanding officer.

Still, Sephiroth had a job to do, and the rookies needed addressing. "This is where you'll be living when you're not on missions. There are six empty bunks at the far end of the room, so squabble over them as you wish.

"Your NCOs, other than Staff Sergeant Muldoon, are Corporal Rostis Kedner…"

"Yo."

"…Corporal Lunus Unari…"

"A pleasure."

"…Lance-Corporal Taa Benlo…"

"Hmph."

"…And Lance-Corporal Merrick MacCailin."

"'Allo there."

"As for you lot," Sephiroth turned back to the established members of the platoon, "I expect them to remain in one piece. Understand? Good."

Somewhere in the distance, something went 'whoomph'.

" …Did anybody else hear that?"

* * *

Towers of flame loomed above a twisted wreck of metal and concrete, casting its glow onto scorched bodies, perhaps corpses, which lay before it like toys strewn about by a childish god. A few tried to move or speak as medics pulled them onto stretchers, but far more remained motionless. Somebody screamed, a primal shriek that barely rose above the deafening klaxons.

The sharp, acrid stench of mako pervaded the air and mingled with the smoke to produce a foul, choking mixture, some sort of makoic smog. To Sephiroth, as he picked his way through the ever-increasing crowds, the scent was very, very wrong. Surely the smoke had altered the smell, but even ignoring the smoke the mako lacked its ubiquitous cleanness and alkalinity – this smelt bitter, almost acidic. It hadn't been a substandard batch; it had been tainted. He coughed, trying to clear his lungs as he approached the woman who looked to be in charge. She was waving her arms, directing stretcher-bearers and ambulances, when she noticed him. "Sir! Sir, please stay back – we're trying to set up triage here."

In a well-practiced routine of strategic ignoring, Sephiroth continued to walk towards her. "Has anyone gone into the generator building yet?"

"Sir, we're doing our best to keep people informed. If you could just – "

"If they haven't, I have a complement of SOLDIERs who are up to the job."

"It hasn't been cleared for – wait, SOLDIERs? How many know anything about medicine?" The medic's eyes widened slightly, a sliver of hope in her voice.

"Three are trained in combat medicine, and the rest can assist in crowd control or locating wounded."

"Good enough. All right, get your men here and get whoever's in there out. Don't attempt any medical procedures unless it's absolutely necessary, leave that to us. And wear gas masks – the mako may not do you much harm, but the smoke will."

Sephiroth nodded. A sprint back to the barracks, a hasty explanation and another sprint back to the generators brought the entirety of the 2nd Praetorians into the fold. In the time it had taken for them to arrive, Muldoon had abandoned the unfortunate Lieutenant Brewer and begun his own investigation. He padded over to the arriving unit with the tiniest of grins playing on his face. "What are you planning, Faremis?"

"We're heading in to locate casualties. The generators themselves haven't been cleared for regulars to go in, but SOLDIERs shouldn't have a problem. Lunus' section will be going in, while Rostis' half will be assisting with crowd control."

"Hence the gas masks. Not bad, Faremis – now get moving." The sergeant smiled and stepped backwards, symbolically offering Sephiroth centre stage.

Sephiroth took a deep breath and a moment to compose himself. This is it, Faremis. "Corporal Kedner, your section is to keep the crowds under control and assist the medics if necessary. Corporal Unari, your section will enter the generator building and extract as many casualties as possible. Time is of the essence, so you and MacCailin are not to provide medical assistance unless necessary for survival."

"Sir," came a small voice from the back of the platoon, "what about us? We haven't been assigned to sections yet, sir."

Brilliant. Sephiroth cast his mind back to the paperwork he'd so diligently neglected. They had been allocated sections, but the explosion had put a halt to the formalities of assignment. "Hewley, Rhapsodos, you're with Corporal Unari. The rest of you, you're with Corporal Kedner. All right? Let's move." Thirty-four SOLDIERs split neatly into two groups, half heading into the wrecked generator building and half spreading out to aid the overworked military police in controlling the writhing crowds.

Thirteen years in the care of doctors and biologists had taught Sephiroth a few things about medicine, so he led Lunus and his men into what had once housed the camp's generators. He paused imperceptibly at the threshold, then pushed onwards into the inferno. At first, all they heard was their own footsteps and the crackle of the flames. Then, ever so faintly, a voice, hoarse with smoke and barely reaching the SOLDIERs. Everyone who heard it stopped as one, resulting in a few stepped-on toes and some muffled swearing on the parts of those who didn't.

Lunus glanced at his superior, who nodded – close enough to an affirmative. The corporal beckoned for one of his troops to follow him, and they negotiated their way through fire and rubble towards the source of the sound. Unable to wait, the rest of the unit pressed on. Smaller groups began to break off from the main unit, fanning out to cover more ground. Soon, the only people left with Sephiroth were Merrick and the two rookies.

Sephiroth's group had abstained from going to casualties, instead coordinating movements and improvising triage. Now the rest of the unit was about its mission, however, they came into the field. The first casualty they found Sephiroth almost tripped over. Charred black and smelling little different from the smoke itself, anyone would have missed him, but Merrick's poorly concealed chuckle did nothing for Sephiroth's self confidence. The body wasn't breathing, nor did it appear to actually still have anything to breathe with. The face was completely burnt away, exposing blackened bone. Dead. Without a word, Sephiroth kept walking. They could come back for him later, but for now their priority was live casualties.

It didn't take long for them to find one. Superficial burns, steady breathing and open eyes. Wide, staring eyes. Taking the initiative, Private Genesis Rhapsodos darted towards him and crouched down beside the casualty, followed by the rest of the group. Sephiroth looked down at the man's face – his mouth hung slightly open, and the pupils were dilated to the point that they almost filled the irises. Genesis, on the other hand, hadn't noticed as he grabbed the man's arms and started to pull him away.

A hand on his shoulder and a voice with a thick Northern accent held him back. "He's dead, lad."

"He's breathing!"

"Broaden yer definition of 'dead'. His body's alive, but his mind's dead. There ain't nought left in there. 'S'what mako does is take yer mind away. Boss-man, ye got a light?" Merrick took the pen light Sephiroth handed to him and pointed it into the man's eyes. The pupils remained wide, even with the light. "Ye ken? Brain dead, or at least damaged. Either way, there's nought salvageable, so he ain't worth our time."

Genesis stared back, lost for words. "But… but… Lieutenant! Say something! We can't just leave him!"

One silver eyebrow rose quizzically. The man certainly had gall, addressing him directly and expecting him to agree. "We can, and we will. Keep moving." Sephiroth led by example, striding away from the breathing corpse.

At that moment, something inside Genesis broke. His idol, the great hero Sephiroth, was leaving a man to die. He simply stood there, flat out refusing to follow his lieutenant. Even through the gas mask, Sephiroth seemed to smell the rookie's discomfort. "Rhapsodos," he halted and turned to face Genesis "if we get him out, we risk being responsible for the death of someone who is mentally alive. It's unlikely he will recover, so our efforts will simply have prolonged an existence that doesn't even qualify as a life and wasted time that could have been spent saving an actual life." He didn't know why he was explaining this. An officer wasn't accountable to a private, least of all a private fresh from Basic. Still, something about the way the rookie's shoulders fell, or the faint trace of despair through the smoke and mako, made him say it. Besides, the occasional explanation was good for morale. That was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.

* * *

Outside, the first patients were being dragged from the danger zone. Lunus' man had died in transit and been left, but he and his partner emerged with a new casualty, which was swiftly stretchered and ferried to the medics. In an ideal situation everybody they pulled out would have been on boards and wearing spinal braces, but these were far from perfect circumstances and time was not on their side. Minutes spent waiting for specialist equipment could be minutes in which the patient died of smoke inhalation or burns, and it was better to be alive with a potentially damaged spinal cord than dead.

Inside, Sephiroth's group had finally found a patient who was indisputably alive. The smoke had made sandpaper of her throat, so her words were gravelly and nearly impossible to hear, but as far as they could tell she was coherent. The unit had established that her name was Seren, that she was an engineer, and that she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Blood pooled where a fallen girder pinned down her left leg, but she remained surprisingly calm. Sephiroth pondered whether it was iron discipline or blood loss that allowed her to keep her head, only to brush away the thought and focus on the issue at hand. The girder was far too heavy for any one of them to lift, perhaps even too heavy for all of them. The only option was…

"…Cut…" croaked Seren. All four men turned to look at her with expressions ranging from deadpan to total horror.

"Are you – " Angeal's voice shook.

"Yes."

"All right." From the med-kit he carried Sephiroth produced several heavy-duty gauze pads and ripped the first's packaging open, then replaced his military gloves with latex ones. Next came the trauma shears – he cut away the trouser on the trapped leg, unperturbed by Seren's faint hiss of "Awkward…"

Sephiroth pulled her free leg out of the way, then leant his sword an inch or so above where flesh met girder. "Ready?" The sapper nodded. In an instant, the sword rose, came down and severed the limb cleanly. Just as quickly he pressed the pad against the now spurting stump, holding it as tight as he physically could. Seren inhaled sharply, but didn't cry out, either out of restraint or because her throat wouldn't let her. Gently he lifted the stump upwards until the wound was well above her heart. "Hewley."

Angeal straightened immediately. "Yes sir?"

"Hold the gauze in place. Apply as much pressure as you can."

"Y-yes sir!" Angeal's face paled slightly. Why him? Why today, of all days? He didn't mind blood – he'd seen plenty of it, even in Basic – but he did not want to be treating an amputation on his first day in a new unit. Still, he pushed his trepidations aside and took over holding the gauze as Sephiroth taped it in place.

"Yer cruel, boss-man." Another chuckle from Merrick brought all eyes onto him. "Honestly, gettin' the rook to hold the bloody gauze. I mean, come on."

"I want to know what he's capable of." At this, Angeal's eyes grew even wider. Had that been a test?

"He's a… rookie?" Seren croaked – even her cracked voice couldn't hide the disbelief.

"It's kind of my first day." Angeal looked at his feet as he pressed the pad against her leg, refusing to look her in the eye.

"Mine, too." Genesis wormed his way into the conversation, only to be met with a rasping laugh.

"Ow! Don't… don't make me… laugh… it hurts…" Despite being missing a leg and bleeding heavily, Seren found herself grinning from ear to ear. Sephiroth took that as a good sign and began to pull her away, towards the safety of the outside.

* * *

Several hours later, it was over. The camp commander had declared the generator building safe for regulars to enter, and HazMat teams provided welcome relief for the SOLDIERs. Towards the end all they had been pulling out were corpses or vegetables, and it was increasingly unlikely anyone was still alive in there, so the job could be taken by whoever had a back strong enough.

Perhaps the day's only mercy came in the form of the relative absence of paperwork, at least for now. The next few days would no doubt bring hurricanes of red tape, but as most of the camp was busy with the practical aspect of firefighting, providing medical assistance and figuring out what on Gaia happened, a brief moment of respite was allowed for those that weren't. It was no surprise to Muldoon, then, that he found his lieutenant slumped over his desk, possibly asleep. "Don't get used to it."

A voice came from underneath the rumpled mop of silver hair. "Get used to what? Not having anything to do?"

"Me calling you 'sir'. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don't care if you have a commission; I've been in the military for almost two decades. You've been in for all of eighteen months. Don't go confusing your rank with my authority."

This time the head beneath the mop rose up to look at Muldoon, though the constant blinking interfered with the eye contact. So he had been asleep. "Then why did you let me take command earlier?"

"You had things in hand. Besides, you won't become a half-decent officer if I do every damn thing for you." Muldoon pulled his chair over to his lieutenant and sat on it backwards, resting his arms on the back. "You did good, kid."

Not quite sure how to respond, Sephiroth looked down at his hands. Muldoon realised this, and continued. "I trust you remember our conversation yesterday." Sephiroth lowered his head, nodding as he did so. "I think I have an alternative."

A tilt, rather than a raise, of the head told the sergeant of his lieutenant's scepticism. "The two recruits you had with you, Genesis and Angeal, you said they handled themselves fairly well, a certain incident of near-insubordination aside?" Another nod. "Take them out on an assessment mission. I figure these turns of yours could very well be due to your being stuck in this shit-hole day in, day out. Base fever, if you will. If you don't have any incidents when you're out, I'll let you off for now and the med department will hear no more of this. Okay?"

"Okay." No hesitation, no nervousness in the voice. Sephiroth lifted his head again, pulling himself around to face Muldoon properly.

"Good man."

Sephiroth smiled. It was a lopsided, crooked smile that didn't make it all the way to his eyes, but it was a smile. And that was what counted.

* * *

_**Extracted from 'Combat Logistics Past and Present' (Cnl. Marcus Trigg)**_

_Much of the structure of SOLDIER is purely administrative; platoons, for example, are not combat units but are designated as such for logistics purposes. As most SOLDIERs operate solo or in small groups, the units into which they are organised are largely arbitrary, though certain units, for example the Praetorians and Ragnarok, are considered elite. Similarly, ranks are usually assigned for administration purposes and to enforce a hierarchy by which SOLDIER can be controlled. In practice, as all SOLDIERs are primarily combat operatives (the cost of producing and maintaining a SOLDIER would be wasted if they weren't), rank is not considered particularly important when on the battlefield. In combat operations, social standing is determined by the SOLDIER's class and experience rather than his rank.

* * *

_

_Oh hey, would you look at that. This chapter's a damn sight longer than last chapter. Hm. Don't expect this length regularly, but I'm pretty damn chuffed with this. As always, critique is very welcome. By the way, Merrick's 'ye's are pronounced 'yeh', not 'yee'. I also apologise to anyone who is in fact Scottish for Merrick's ludicrous accent._


	3. Chapter 3

_0709_

_26/11/90_

_Junon SOLDIER Barracks_

_2__nd__ Praetorians Command Office_

For the past seven days, the SOLDIER barracks at Junon had been completely without power. Tension mounted as the heat did – the lack of air conditioning meant that temperatures were soaring. Even SOLDIERs, with their inherent tolerance to extreme conditions, were starting to feel it.

The papers Sephiroth idly flicked over reported nine cases of heat stroke from Junon's SOLDIER complement over the previous week. Not ideal under any circumstances, it was even more problematic given that the infirmary was already overloaded with patients. The explosion at the generators had resulted in fourteen physically dead, eight psychologically dead and twenty-one injured, including respiratory issues in the rescuers.

A letter sitting on his desk promised a full investigation and overhaul of the base's generator system, but until Shinra decided that they could spare the money, time or interest, they had no power. Which meant no light, no hot food unless you started a fire and no coffee. Sephiroth's hand instinctively reached for the place where a mug would have sat, only to grasp at empty air. The slight twitch told him how long it had been since he'd last had a caffeine fix.

Mercy came in the form of a creaking door, followed by a rapturous scent. Through the door came Lunus, carrying two cups of coffee. Almost unthinkingly Sephiroth reached out to him, taking the cup that was placed in his hand. He ripped off the lid and threw back the steaming liquid, heedless of the heat.

Lunus stared in disbelief as the now empty cup was placed on the desk. "Did you just down an entire cup of boiling coffee?" Even his soft, unassuming voice couldn't hide the surprise.

"Yes. And thank you."

"That should not be possible, even for a SOLDIER." To emphasise his point, Lunus took a careful sip of his own coffee. "You now owe me, what, twenty-six gil? I'm losing track of the number of times I've bought you coffee. The people at the coffee shop know your order by heart – black, strong as they can physically make it, absolutely not decaf."

"I imagine they've had a lot of trade since the power went. I'm not the only one on this base with a caffeine addiction." Sephiroth picked up his cup again, tipping it back to get at the last drops in the bottom.

"It's not healthy, you know."

"And being pumped full of mako and a dozen types of drug is."

"At least mako has benefits other than not twitching violently and screaming at people." At this, Sephiroth harrumphed and said nothing. "Say, aren't you supposed to be taking two of the rookies out on a mission? Like, now?"

"Technically, yes. We would probably have left by now had they deigned to join me."

Lunus took another sip of his coffee, blew on it, and then put his free hand in his pocket. "There must be some reason they're late. Nobody would be late to their first mission given the choice."

"One would think so."

Lunus hummed an agreement and reached for the papers on Sephiroth's desk. "I am cleared for these, aren't I?" Sephiroth nodded. The corporal placed the reading glasses he produced from a pocket onto his nose and started reading. "Nine heat stroke cases? On top of the explosion casualties? At least the infirmary has a backup genera-"

"We have a stove!" A new voice cut Lunus off as Banner bounced through the door, covered from head to toe in soot.

"Excuse me?" Sephiroth gave his ever-familiar head-tilt. Naturally, the moment the lieutenant thought he was used to Banner's non-sequiturs, he came up with a new way to confuse him.

"A stove! We have one!" Banner beamed. Genesis and Angeal crept in after the chaplain, keeping close to the wall and hoping Banner's exuberance would distract the officers from the fact that they were twenty minutes late.

"And what does this have to do with the rookies who were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago?" No such luck. Sephiroth was looking right at them with those cold, hard eyes. Simultaneously they shrank backwards, painfully aware of how low they were in the SOLDIER food chain.

"Oh, them, right. Well. I sort of borrowed them." The explanation was met only with a pair of blank stares, then a sidelong glance between lieutenant and corporal. "You see, I needed a hand setting up the stove, and…"

"You decided to press-gang them." Lunus peered at Banner over his glasses.

Banner's nose wrinkled in disgust. "'Press-gang' is such an ugly phrase. I prefer the term 'coerce'. Besides, it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good; at least now we can get some tea in this place. All I need to do now is find somewhere that sells some decent oolong in Junon. I normally get it shipped in, but it's so expensive…"

"Banner." Sensing a tangent, Sephiroth tried to bring the conversation back to the topic of lateness.

"Honestly, sixty-five gil for three tins of oolong leaves. And the local teas are – yes?"

"Next time you need someone to help in one of your little endeavours, you find someone who is not needed elsewhere at that moment in time. Understand?"

"I'm sorry – I grabbed them about an hour ago. I didn't think it would take too long, but…" Banner looked up at Sephiroth, who stood a full head above him, with wide, wet eyes. If this didn't save him, nothing would. For added effect, he wrung his hands in front of him in feigned nervousness.

Of course, attempting to seem small and helpless to somebody who could smell your emotions was largely pointless, and the conspicuous absence of the bitter, ferric tang of fear told Sephiroth that Banner was simply trying to play on his alleged soft side. A single word expressed his displeasure; "Out."

Banner looked down at his hands, nodded and turned away, trying very hard to conceal the tiny smile of amusement. Lunus looked between lieutenant and chaplain, then followed Banner out of the office. The door slammed shut behind them, but even through the metal Sephiroth could hear the conversation.

"Banner, you should have asked me. I'd have helped, and you wouldn't have ended up making a scene."

"Not make a scene? Oh, you're no fun, Lunus."

The lieutenant disguised his eavesdropping with a silent glare at the two latecomers. Not that they needed to be reminded of their blunder, but it was convenient and it firmly established his place as The Boss.

"The mission you're about to undertake is an evaluation. I will be travelling with you to assess your performance and to provide assistance where necessary, but this is primarily your mission. I will be making most of the critical decisions, but I will allow you some freedom to pursue your own course of action unless you're about to do something horrifically stupid, at which point I will intervene. Kindly don't make me."

Sephiroth fished out a document from a pile of papers on the desk in front of him, followed by a map. He scanned over them for a moment, then continued. "We will be travelling to a town on the Northern Continent called Roefrheim. Apparently, they've had several instances of people going missing. Ordinarily it would be attributed to weather conditions, but meteorologists report calm weather out there. Furthermore, the company has begun work on a mako extraction facility in the nearby Modeo ravine and wants to be sure the area is safe. The most likely explanation is monster attacks, so be on your guard. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good. I sincerely hope you're both packed and ready to leave." Sephiroth didn't need to ask. As the pair responded with the usual 'yes, sir's, he saw the kit bags at their sides. At least they were somewhat organised, he mused. Probably more organised than he was with requisition orders. "Let's move."

* * *

The thunder of an S-460 Goliath airship's engines tore through her cargo hold and, almost, the ear drums of the three SOLDIERs perched precariously on crates within. The Goliath was not a troop transport; rather, the trio had hitched a lift aboard a supply airship bound for Fort Blackwell, a military base reasonably close to their destination. As such, seating arrangements were minimal and largely improvised.

Above them was the rumble of dry-dock gates opening. Genesis, who had just about pulled himself into a bearable position at the nose-end of the airship, could hear the muffled voices of pilot and co-pilot on the bridge as they prepared for takeoff. He pulled his kit bag closer to him to ensure it didn't fall onto the two others below him, when the entire ship lurched skywards. He caught himself as he fell forward and grabbed the dropped kit bag with his feet. He smiled to nobody in particular – SOLDIER reflexes were brilliant.

Beneath him, Sephiroth and Angeal had both heard the scuffle. Seeing that his new comrade was fine, the silver-haired lieutenant went back to reading through the files he had brought with him. Angeal grinned up at him and, once the turbulence of takeoff had passed, clambered up to join him. "You smell like you've just found a million gil, you know that?"

"I'm excited. Am I not allowed to be excited? It's our first proper mission! How can you be so calm?" Genesis hauled the bag back up to his lap, wearing a smile that reached his ears.

"Okay, yes you're allowed, I know, and because I'm a laid-back sort. You should try being mellow sometime, you might like it."

"I can't be mellow, not now. We're going on a mission with… with…" Genesis gesticulated wildly in Sephiroth's direction. "He's the entire reason I joined SOLDIER, Angeal. I think I have a right to be excited."

Angeal chuckled in response as he pulled himself into a cross-legged position. "Then go and talk to him. He can't be as unapproachable as the press makes him out to be."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"In the generator… I talked back at him… and today, when we were late… do you think he's mad?"

"There's one way to find out." Angeal pushed his friend down onto the crate below as a not-so-subtle hint. Genesis glared up at him, looked down at the lieutenant, paused for a moment then took a few tentative steps towards him.

"Um… sir…"

"Sephiroth." The silver-haired man didn't even look up from his paperwork.

"Say again, sir?"

"My name is Sephiroth, and that is how you will address me when we're off-base. I don't care much for formalities, and the only authority a SOLDIER holds when outside a military facility comes from his class and his experience, not his rank." Sephiroth twisted around to look up at Angeal, who was watching Genesis' attempt to break the ice. "That goes for both of you."

"Yes si-" Genesis caught himself mid-sentence, "Sephiroth." Sephiroth nodded his approval then looked to the rookie SOLDIER expectantly. "Are you… um…"

"No." Genesis' eyebrows rose by a fraction as the lieutenant put his files back in their official envelope and turned to face him properly. "No, I am not 'mad', as you put it. In fact, I was quite impressed with your confidence. Not many Thirds fresh from Basic would have had the spine to stand up to a commissioned officer like you did. As for earlier… it can be difficult to extract oneself from Banner's company. I fully understand your situation."

Genesis' eyes lit up as a smile erupted over his face. With a sharp intake of breath, he managed to blurt out "You – you mean it?"

"I say nothing I don't mean." Clearly, the rookie's joy and relief was not contagious. Sephiroth's face was just as devoid of emotion as it had been the moment they had first seen him.

"Thank you, sir. Sephiroth! I meant Sephiroth." From above came a deep, rumbling laugh as Angeal observed the proceedings. Genesis shot yet another mock-glare up at him, looked back at Sephiroth – who neither said nor did anything – then clambered back up. Upon settling beside his friend he received a playful, gentle punch in the arm, and the hushed chatter began anew.

* * *

After the first hour, the rookies realised how terribly, terribly dull journeys to missions were. Sephiroth had already given up on the paperwork and broken out a book instead, and both Genesis and Angeal had followed suit. Six hours into the journey, a juddering of the hold alerted them to the airship's slowing and descent through the clouds. Angeal checked his watch. "I thought the journey was a ten-hour trip. Why are we slowing down?"

"Presumably, we've reached Barrier Islands." Sephiroth once again failed to even look up at them, and only the silence – which he assumed implied bewilderment – made him continue. "They're a chain of islands from which Shinra polices all air and sea traffic to and from the Northern Continent. When we land, the cargo hold will be searched for contraband."

"But we're in a military airship. Why would they search their own airships?" Genesis lay his still-open book on his lap, carefully so as not to bend the spine.

"Why does the company do anything?" Sephiroth responded, with a tone less questioning and more quietly resigned to a simple fact. A grumble from the uppermost crates told him that Genesis was not pleased with this answer, but lacking a better one he remained silent.

More turbulence rocked the ship, followed by the crackle of a PA system kicking in. "Sorry for the rough ride, lads, wind's always a sod around here. We'll be landing on Barrier Island Alpha in approximately six minutes." Another crackle and the speaker – presumably one of the pilots – signed off.

For the next few minutes, which numbered considerably more than six, the airship remained in a holding pattern, buffeted by the wind. Above the noise, Genesis could just about hear somebody in the cockpit shouting. At last, the ship jolted as she hit solid ground, almost sending both Genesis and Angeal flying. If Sephiroth had become unbalanced, neither of them had noticed.

Though they had made landfall, nothing continued to happen. The rookies were becoming painfully aware of how much of military life is spent waiting, be it for leave requests to go through, for reinforcements to arrive, or for airship bulkheads to open and let them out. Even that seemingly unflappable lieutenant drummed his fingers idly against the crate he sat on. Yet more time passed before a chink of light between the top of the door and the fuselage appeared like a sunbeam in torrential rain.

Once the bulkhead was more-or-less open – it had creaked open inch by laborious inch, dulling the edge of the joy felt when it began to open with yet more waiting – the three men ventured out into the hangar, where it stank of oil and steel. Waiting for them on the other side were two logistics officers and four or five military policemen. One of the logistics officers wrinkled his nose at the three SOLDIERs. "I wasn't informed this airship was carrying live cargo."

Sephiroth rummaged through his kit bag, produced an official envelope and passed it to the officer. "SOLDIER First Class Lieutenant Sephiroth Faremis and SOLDIERs Third Class Privates Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos. We're not at liberty to tell you why we're here."

The upturned nose did not unwrinkle as its owner looked over the contents of the envelope. "But surely you were at liberty to alert us to your coming beforehand."

"Our assignment was rather sudden. Unfortunately, we did not have an opportunity to pass information of our coming on to you."

The logistics officer sniffed, harrumphed, then turned to his provosts. "Search them."

"What." Sephiroth's eyes went cold, and his pupils contracted to slivers of black. The officer pretended not to have heard him, as he took half his complement onto the ship to begin inspections, leaving a pair of policemen to deal with the three SOLDIERs. The lieutenant bore down onto the nearest with his gaze as the provost came towards him. As he reached to pat him down, a gloved hand pushed him away. Through gritted teeth the lieutenant growled. "Do _not_ touch me." The man, a private, backed away without a word. His corporal, however, was less than impressed.

"Whatever. Now, we can do this easy or we can do this hard. Either let us search you, or we arrest you and probably get you court-martialled. Your choice."

"Perhaps we could simply disarm? Unless, of course, our hosts do not trust the integrity and _military rigour_ of SOLDIER." Cold eyes gave way to a cold smile, and the corporal sighed.

"There's more to smuggling than weapons. Still, disarm first. I don't want you to try anything funny."

Sephiroth made his hwuff-huff chuckle, and began to remove his weapons. First came the standard SOLDIER sword. Next, the butterfly knives concealed under the straps holding the sword-magnet in place. Then the boot-daggers, then the three knives hidden under the large SOLDIER belt, then the butterfly swords under his shirt, removed with writhing and wriggling as though he didn't want to lift his top up, then the materia in small, carved hollows under one of his shoulder pauldrons, then the lump of a white, doughy substance that was unmistakeably C-4 flattened under the other pauldron, then the blasting cap taped to his back, then the length of fuse wrapped around his torso.

The corporal's eyes grew ever wider as the pile of weapons grew in height. When Sephiroth finished – or appeared to have finished – disarming, he muttered "This cannot be legal."

Sephiroth's ears were finer than the corporal thought, and he half-smiled again. "I'm a First. I can carry whatever equipment I choose." The rookies had looked on in increasing horror, and as they lay their own swords down couldn't help but stare at Sephiroth's arsenal. The two provosts looked at one another, then without a word strode into the belly of the airship. After an echoing conversation with the logistics officer they returned, looking and smelling somewhat relieved.

"Boss says you can go straight through, skip the search. Follow the signs to the holding bay and wait for someone to tell you where to go." Typical. Wait. The pair of policemen, reasonably convinced that Sephiroth was insane, headed back into the relative safety of the ship and outside the C-4's blast radius.

Genesis looked up at the lieutenant as he reattached his pauldrons and replaced his array of pointy and explosive things. "Sir… why didn't you let them search you?"

Sephiroth hesitated for a moment, both in speech and in action. "I cannot stand being touched."

* * *

Several hours of doing very little passed, until eventually the ship was declared clean of illegal material. Another four hours of travel brought them to Fort Blackwell, the company's northernmost military base. Some basic formalities followed their arrival until it was discovered that their hosts had failed to set aside a helicopter to take them to Roefrheim, at which point formalities were strategically forgotten. Another hour produced a helicopter at last, and eventually they arrived at what appeared to be a barren cliff-face rising from the snow.

Sixteen hours since they had set off, and about eighteen since they had woken, the three SOLDIERs were at last somewhere in the vicinity of their destination. The only problem they were faced with now was locating their destination. Hastily thanking their pilot, the trio descended out into the November cold.

Finding the entrance to the town was simply a matter of noticing the two heavily armed guards standing at the gaping mouth of a cave. The moment the trio stepped off the helicopter, the man and woman levelled their machine guns at them. "State your business." One growled.

Sephiroth held his hands slightly forward to keep them clearly visible. "We're SOLDIER. We were sent in to deal with the disappearances around here."

Neither of the guards looked particularly impressed, and the woman, still keeping her gun trained on the three of them, approached cautiously. "Let's see some paperwork." Sephiroth pulled his kit bag off his shoulder and, still looking straight at the gunner, located yet another official envelope and passed it to her. She checked the seal, ripped it open and glanced at the letter within briefly. She then turned back to her comrade and called "They're legit! Let 'em through."

Angeal furrowed his brows. "What's with all the security? I shouldn't think you have so much trouble out here that you need armed guards at the entrance."

The woman sneered back at him. "You think we can let every damn waif and stray from the snow in here? We're overcrowded enough as it is. People can go out, but they can't come back in if they ain't got the paperwork." She waved them into the cavern hastily, and took her place back at the entrance. "Oh, and kiddo?" Angeal halted dead and whirled around to face her. "Don't talk down to me. You know nothing about this town, so don't go judging what I do."

Angeal kept his shoulders bunched in irritation as he followed his comrades. The other two were vaguely aware of a low grumble that was probably below the normal range of human hearing.

A few minutes into the tunnel, all three of them threw their hands over their faces simultaneously. "What is that smell?" Genesis fought to keep himself from gagging as he darted back to try and find some fresh air. "It's like something's rotting in there!"

Angeal released his grip on his nose for a moment to breathe in again. "It's almost like sulphur."

"Hydrogen sulphide. Sulphur itself is odourless." Sephiroth found himself instinctively correcting the rookie. "There may be underground hot springs venting the gas."

"And people live down here?"

"Apparently so."

Genesis shook his head in disbelief, still refusing to breathe through his nose as he padded back. "We're going to stink by the end of this, aren't we?"

Sephiroth hwuffed in response, and began walking forward, into the depths of the tunnel. Darkness and the scent of brimstone pervaded everything as they walked; Sephiroth had fished out a light, but even that only served to cast long shadows on the rocks. The gas began to sting their eyes, and soon all three were pawing at them. Slowly the stench faded, but nothing took its place, not even each other's scents. For a few minutes nobody noticed, until Genesis stopped dead, testing the air frantically. The other two halted as he did, turning to face him.

"What's wrong?" Sephiroth tilted his head yet again, hair flopping into his puffy eyes.

"I can't smell anything." Genesis continued to breathe in deeply through his nose, as did the other two. Both found their senses of smell conspicuously absent.

Sephiroth tilted his head in the motion that was beginning to become familiar to the rookies. "It's the gas. It paralyses the olfactory nerve. I don't think it's permanent, but while we're exposed – and perhaps shortly after – we probably won't be able to smell."

"Then why weren't we told about this? What else does this gas do?" Genesis snapped. The glow in his eyes intensified, and both Sephiroth and Angeal noted the lack of the anger-smell that should have been there.

Sephiroth paused for a moment, shutting his sore eyes. "Low concentrations produce irritation of eyes and throat, headaches, physical weakness and difficulty breathing. At higher concentrations, loss of the sense of smell, shortness of breath, vertigo… and, if the level is high enough, collapse, unconsciousness, seizures and cardiac and respiratory arrest."

"… So, it's lethal?" Genesis narrowed his eyes and buried his hands in his pockets.

"If there's a town in here, I doubt there's enough gas to kill a healthy person."

"Why would somebody build a town in here anyway?" Genesis mumbled and scuffed his boots on the bare rock. "Whatever. Let's just keep moving and get this over with as quickly as possible."

They pressed on, eager to find the town. Keeping close to the walls of the cavern, they used their hands as well as the meagre light to navigate with. What felt like hours passed of seeing nothing but the poorly lit contours of the rock before a faint glow met their eyes. With renewed haste they headed towards it, to be met with a truly magnificent sight.

Before them was a massive gallery of stone, lit by lanterns strung on and between huge rock pillars. As far as they could see were improvised houses, made of sheet metal, wood, stone, even a few carved out of the walls themselves. On top of each house was another house, and another house, linked to the ground and each other by improvised stairwells and ladders. Amid these precarious houses bustled hundreds of people, all going about their daily business. Their speech boomed through the cave, which acted like a giant echo chamber. So extensive was the shanty town that the trio didn't know where to start.

For a moment they stood in stunned silence, trying to comprehend how so massive a town could thrive in this place. While in comparison to the great cities, and even some of the more major towns, it was tiny, in that looming gallery it seemed huge. Perhaps the sparse lighting left too much to their imagination, or maybe the low ceiling that touched the highest of the towers made it seem to take up more space.

"We're looking for an inn called the Red Dog." Sephiroth scanned the nearest buildings from top to bottom. There didn't seem to be anything resembling an inn nearby.

What there did appear to be nearby, however, was an actual dog. A very large dog that bounded towards them at full pelt, ripples running through its liberal coat of fur. With a deafening bark it leapt at them, fringed tail wagging so fast it produced a breeze. More specifically, it leapt at Sephiroth, knocking him to the ground and smothering him in canine kisses.

Sephiroth struggled violently in a futile attempt to remove the mighty hound. Angeal and Genesis couldn't help but laugh as their lieutenant tried to wipe the saliva from his face.

"Bram! Bram, you get back here! You let him alone, you daft dog!" Behind the dog came a portly woman of indeterminate age, sprinting to try and catch up. She grabbed the gargantuan dog by the scruff of the neck and began to pull him off the beleaguered Sephiroth, aided by the still-laughing rookies. "Gods, you stupid, stupid dog. I am so sorry, mister, I truly am. He's just tryin' to be friendly, he don't know his own strength…" With their combined strength, Bram at last let up his assault of love upon the lieutenant, who pulled himself to his feet and began smoothing down his hair and removing as much of the drool from his face as possible.

"Well, we found _a_ red dog, even if we didn't find _the _Red Dog." Genesis struggled to get his laughter under control. Sephiroth looked at him strangely for a moment, then remembered what he had read in the rookie's file. Genesis was able to see the full visible spectrum of colour, a rarity in SOLDIER.

"You lookin' for the Red Dog, you say?" The lady, who was restraining Bram with her entire bodily weight, looked up at Genesis, who nodded. "I'm Edda, Edda Rasmussdottir. I'm the landlady of the Red Dog, and this fella here," Edda motioned to the wriggling mass of dog, "is the red dog. You the SOLDIERs they said they send o'er? I figured you were, you got the look of bein' important about you. 'Bout bloody time, I say."

In attempt to piece together the remaining scraps of his dignity, Sephiroth nodded. "Yes. We've been sent to investigate and deal with the recent disappearances."

"'Course you 'ave, 'course you 'ave. Come on, then. I'll show you where you're goin'." Edda stood up and slapped Bram softly on the shoulder in a 'let's go' gesture. The dog bounded up to her side, tongue lolling idly out of his mouth, then he turned back again to the three SOLDIERs. He stretched out on the ground and wagged his entire back end, as though beckoning them to go with him. With a chuckle, Angeal trotted over to him, rumpling his ears and generally making a fuss of him. Less enthusiastic to follow the hyperactive hound was Sephiroth, and he maintained a healthy distance. As long as Angeal was distracting it, he was safe.

* * *

Had the Red Dog Inn been anywhere other than Roefrheim, it would have leapt out at anybody who saw it. However, in this improvised town, the tower of metal and wood, held together by what looked to be duct tape, bits of string and the will of the gods, was positively nondescript. All that set it apart from the surrounding buildings was its size – most of the other houses were considerably smaller, often only one floor per stacked house – and the painted sign depicting a dog that looked suspiciously like Bram.

Inside, the inn was no less ramshackle. People drank and laughed and passed out on chairs that had been broken and repaired many times, as had the tables and one very worn sofa near the back. Towards this sofa lolloped Bram, who stretched out on top of it and reached well over both its patched arms.

Behind the equally worn bar, Edda rummaged about for something or another. "Let's see, where are they… nope, that's my keys. Two gil, a four of clubs, ooh, that's where my purse went – my birth certificate? I'm not even going t'ask. Ah, here we go!" She emerged clutching a small wooden box, which she unlocked to reveal several keys. "You're in room 14, next floor up. Mind the second-to-last step on your way up, it's a bit weak." She produced key 14 and handed it to Sephiroth, who she assumed was in charge. "Meals are pretty much whenever you feel like, as long as you're not askin' for breakfast afore lights-on. Give me a shout whenever you want to take a bath and I'll get some water up there. Sorry, we ain't exactly five-star." Edda chuckled sheepishly and replaced the box under the bar.

As they carefully ascended the stairs, Genesis muttered, "Just one room?"

Angeal stopped as one of the steps beneath him creaked and sagged slightly. "You think the company will pay for three rooms when they can get away with paying for one?"

They all consciously skipped the weak step, and found room 14 without any trouble. Inside, there was a worm-eaten table, a lamp with a cable trailing out of the window cut from the sheet metal wall, and three bedrolls on the floor. The room was cramped, with a low, dark ceiling and only just enough room to fit three people in. Once the door was closed, the only light was that which filtered in through the window that was too small to admit a decent sized child, let alone an adult, and the glow of the SOLDIERs' eyes.

Kit bags fell to the floor with a clang, and somebody flicked the lamp on. Each man claimed his own bedroll without argument; the absence of radiators or a significant window meant that no part of the room was more desirable than another. Angeal stretched out, flattening as many lumps in the quilt as he could find. "Quite the place, huh?"

Sephiroth rubbed his eyes, still sore from the gas. "You could say that."

* * *

_**Extracted from 'The Subterranean World' (Berusi Venkolo)**_

_The earliest written records of Roefrheim date back to the early fourteenth century, although it is thought that the cave network was inhabited long before that. The town was probably established by indigenous peoples seeking shelter from the fierce northern climate, perhaps using it as a wintering site. Eventually, people moved in permanently, naming it Roefrheim – 'home with a roof'.

* * *

_

_Hark! I see a plot!_

_Huge thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! You've really given me impetus to write. Just a tiny personal request, though; could people please let up on the 'lol antipsychotics' comments? I don't mean to be anal, but I'd really appreciate it. Thanks!_

_I'm really struggling to get Angeal's character down pat, you may have noticed. That's why he has a minimal role in this chapter – I can do Genesis and his drama-queen tendencies no problem, but showing Angeal's patience and zen is a damn sight harder. Any tips would be much appreciated._


	4. Chapter 4

_0624_

_27/11/90_

_Roefrheim_

_The Red Dog Inn_

Nineteen hours and three time zones after they had woken yesterday, the three SOLDIERs had settled down for the night. Six hours and a few minutes' change after that, a sickly yellow light filtered into the dark, metal room about eight feet off the ground. Already the clunk of feet on the vast sheets of rusting, sulphur-coated metal that passed for streets above ground level echoed outside the room, and the thrum of voices was just starting to permeate the caverns.

From one of three bedrolls on the floor came a disgruntled groan and a shuffle, followed by a pair of arms, in turn followed by a head covered in rumpled black hair. Angeal shook his head vigorously to get his hair into some semblance of order, then pulled himself out of bed entirely.

His eyes still stung from the day before, and he rubbed them in a vain attempt to soothe them and wipe away the film of tears that had covered them since he had stepped into the caverns. In hindsight, he thought as he shook the water from his hand and realised that those tears had been keeping the stinging to a minimum, that may not have been the best of ideas.

_Grr-rr-rrmm_.

He looked down at his grumbling stomach. When had he last eaten? Banner had provided sandwiches before he'd left Junon, and there had been supper last night, but that was about it. His stomach was objecting loudly to this blatant neglect. The SOLDIER metabolism might be able to provide masses of energy in short bursts, but there was a price to pay, and that price was a ludicrous appetite.

Angeal pulled a shirt and a pair of trousers on – probably the same clothes he'd worn yesterday – and gave the nearest bedroll a gentle kick to wake its occupant. A sound that may have been a groan or may have been Genesis swearing at him was his only response. Suit yourself, Angeal thought. He briefly considered waking the lieutenant, but decided against it. They could both sleep off the jet-lag, and he could get first dibs on breakfast.

He padded out of the room and headed down the corridor, relying on his hands to get around as the indoor lights had yet to come on. He started down the rickety stairs and forgot about the unsound second step, prompting a yell and a hasty jump down two more steps as the metal gave way beneath him.

"I told you to mind that step!" A mocking, chirping voice sounded from below him.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll pay for it, I swear."

Edda's round, smiling face poked round the partition that made the side of the stairwell. "Now, don't you go worrying your little head, laddie. I've been meaning to get round to fixin' that stair up for gods know how long, you've just given me reason to get me arse in gear and do it."

Angeal half grinned, half winced and chuckled his embarrassment. "I'll fix it, it's no – "

"So," Edda cut him off with ease, "I take it you're in need of feeding."

It took Angeal a second to regain his bearings in the conversation, but when he did his half-grin became a full one. "That would be wonderful."

"Get yourself down here and badger Pála about breakfast. She'll sort you out something." With that the face disappeared, and Angeal picked his way down the remaining stairs without further incident.

Nobody else appeared to have surfaced just yet, so the rickety tables were deserted. The only sign of life, other than Edda, was an overgrown lump of gently snoring fur on the sofa at the far end of the room. Treading quietly so as not to wake the sleeping dog, Angeal proceeded to investigate the rest of the ground floor.

Through the heavy wooden door behind the bar a light came on, and Angeal craned his head to see through the window in the wood. Craning her head likewise was a young woman, perhaps a little older than him. For a moment they stared at one another, until the woman grinned and hefted open the door.

When she came through, Angeal found himself unsure of where to look. She wore a thick cotton apron, but that failed to hide her ludicrously low-cut top. What it did hide, however, was the skirt or shorts that Angeal convinced himself she had to be wearing. She leaned over the edge of the bar and grinned up at him. "Can I help ye?"

Angeal took a deep breath. Just keep it businesslike. Remember, it's not awkward until you make it awkward. "Are you Pála?"

"That I am. And you are…?"

"A-Angeal. Angeal Hewley. A pleasure."

"Pleasure's all mine, lad. Now, are ye after breakfast?" Pála leaned even further forward and looked him up and down, nodding in what seemed like approval. Angeal just nodded. "Good man. Sit your pretty arse down somewhere and figure out what ye'd like, unless you got some clue now. I can do whatever the hell ye fancy." At that last sentence she lowered her voice and a tiny smirk played on her lips.

Angeal kept his eyes firmly locked onto hers to prevent them from straying anywhere else. Think fast, Angeal thought, think fast.

* * *

Ten minutes later a rather more put-out Pála presented a rather more sheepish Angeal with a plate bearing a not inconsiderable portion of bacon, eggs, sausage and toast. She left with a 'hmph' and a hasty thank you from Angeal, who tucked into the meal with gusto. Not only did it fill his stomach, it filled his mouth so he'd have an excuse not to say anything if she did come back.

The voices and the sound of a plate hitting wood had awoken Bram, who loped over to Angeal and sat down next to him. The dog looked up at him eagerly with his tongue hanging out and tail waving in an unsubtle hint.

"No." Bram simply kept looking up at him with those big, dark eyes of his. "I'm sorry, all right? I can't feed you. Don't… don't look at me like that." The dog whimpered softly and began to paw at Angeal's leg. "Bram, go ask Edda. I told you, I'm not allowed to feed you." The whimpering grew in intensity and the pawing became more frantic. "You know what? I'm going to ignore you until you leave me alone, and I am going to enjoy my breakfast. All of it."

Bram's ears twitched and he perked up, trotted off and apparently completely forgot about the plate of food in front of Angeal. Good, he thought. It gave him a little peace to eat.

The peace didn't last long, as the sound of rapidly-clicking claws, anxious woofs and feet clunking on the stairway told Angeal he had company.

"How polite of you to wait for us."

Angeal twisted around to see his two comrades – Genesis, who had spoken, was frowning at him, and Sephiroth was trying very hard to stifle a yawn. Bram licked at the lieutenant's hands, only to receive a tap on the nose for his affection.

"Hey, it would've been cruel to wake you." Angeal motioned to the other two to sit down. "Goddess knows you get little enough sleep as it is."

Sephiroth, who had folded his arms to keep them out of Bram's reach, weaved past the dog that seemed obsessed with him and sat down, but Genesis remained standing. "That's not the point! We're supposed to be a unit, Angeal. You can't just ditch us when it pleases you."

"I was hungry, all right?"

Genesis' expression softened. "You're always hungry." He pulled up a chair and sat down in it heavily, then turned to Sephiroth. "So," he said, "what are we doing?"

Sephiroth lifted an eyebrow. "Presumably, ordering breakfast."

"What? No, I mean today. The mission, remember?"

"Oh. Well, we'll mostly be conducting investigations and trying to get a better idea of what's going on. Our intelligence on this situation is far from comprehensive, so we'll need to supplement it with local knowledge. I contacted the town mayor a few days before we left. He said he'd call a meeting as soon as we were ready, so that will probably be the first order of business."

Whatever answers were planned were cut short when Pála emerged from the kitchen again. The conversation topic swiftly changed from military to culinary matters, and a few minutes later, the sacred ritual of breakfast had begun.

* * *

Carved out of the wall of the cave itself was the town hall, huge and possibly the most solid building in the entire town. While by the standards of outsiders it was primitive and unsightly, in comparison to the slum-buildings of the rest of the town it was positively decadent. The building's age was betrayed by the smoothness of the stone, from the patina of hundreds, maybe thousands of hands and backs touching or leaning on the walls. At the entrance loomed a pair of guards, the shorter of whom still stood a full head above Sephiroth. They looked the trio up and down, then moved aside without a word.

With a nod as courteous as he could manage, Sephiroth led the way into the hall. If the outside was unimpressive to one not native to Roefrheim, the interior was completely at odds with the squalor of the rest of the town. Carpet – real, honest-to-gods carpet – covered the floor, which seemed considerably flatter than that of the bare stone outside. Sephiroth found himself fighting off the desire to remove his boots and bury his feet in the thick pile. He had never liked wearing shoes anyway.

Dozens of lights, strung from the ceiling in a careful and delicate pattern, combined with several strategically placed mirrors, made the hall seem much larger than it actually was, and even the massive table taking up most of the floor space failed to make the room as claustrophobic as the architecture suggested it should be.

At the head of the table, surrounded by vast swathes of papers, was a balding, bored-looking gentleman. Upon hearing the scuffle of boots he perked his head up, but his brief expression of excitement was replaced by one of dismay as he saw precisely who was descending upon his work. That paperwork was starting to look incredibly urgent. "Good morning, gentlemen." From the tone of voice, his own morning had just got a lot worse.

"Good morning. I assume you are Haakon Leifssen?" Sephiroth responded curtly. For now, his rookies had nothing to say, but that would hopefully change once the meeting got underway. Perhaps then he could discern a little more about the two young men who had been assigned to him.

"Indeed, indeed. I assume you are the SOLDIERs that were sent?"

"We are."

"Most excellent. And your names?"

"Sephiroth Faremis."

"Genesis Rhapsodos." Genesis tipped his head forward in a gesture of respect that he hoped was acknowledged universally and not just in his hometown.

"Angeal Hewley, sir." Angeal did the same, though he held his head lower to signify his subordination to Genesis and his family line. He didn't even consider the possibility that it wouldn't make sense outside Banora.

Going by Haakon's vaguely confused expression, the gesture was far from universal. He brushed it off, however, and continued. "Do have a seat, I shall contact the patriarchs posthaste and assemble the Council to discuss the matter at hand. We cannot keep our guests waiting, now can we?" Without waiting for his guests to take their seats, he hurried off and through a small door, far less ornamented than the one the three men had just walked through.

Genesis followed him with his gaze, then shook his head. "What's the matter with him?"

Sephiroth shrugged and sank into one of the chairs, which seemed to be more suited to the luxurious boardroom at Junon's barracks than to a backwater shanty town where much of the populace lived in tin-can houses. Angeal and Genesis followed suit, Genesis deliberately taking the seat closest to whatever papers the mayor had been poring over. While he didn't openly look at them, he did sneak a glance or two at the ones at the top of their respective piles. Unfortunately, he had never been terribly good at reading upside down.

Several minutes of silence followed, as all attempts at stirring up conversation halted after a few sentences. Sephiroth seemed more reluctant than usual to say anything, and while Angeal and Genesis couldn't smell the tension, they could certainly feel it.

Eventually the first of the people the group collectively assumed formed the Council began to trickle in from outside. Mostly they were men, often they were fairly old, and almost all of them were on the heavy side.

Genesis' upbringing as the son of his village's mayor allowed him to assess each member of the Council through a gentleman's eye. Each took a place at the table which, he noted, appeared to be related to the flamboyance of one's clothes and, roughly, one's weight. Presumably, the more money one had here, the higher one's social standing, and the better access one had to food and fine clothing. Much like most places, really.

The newcomers murmured to one another, creating a wall of sound to rival that outside. Roefrheim, it seemed to Sephiroth, was a very noisy town. One thing he noticed was the difference in the accent of these 'patriarchs' to that the majority of the town used. The distinction was similar to that of the respective voices of Rostis, raised in the Midgar slums, and Lunus, raised on the Midgar plate. Perhaps, in yet another bizarre custom of the Outside people, all places had this discrepancy in the voices of the low- and high-born. He pondered this for a moment, quietly yearning for the simplicity of life before he left the building he'd spent his whole life in, if not for the rest of what happened there.

He pushed the thought out of his head and focused on the people around him. Hacking coughs punctuated the discussion, a fact he presumed was to do with the hydrogen sulphide that saturated the caverns. While he had little interest in the gossip of a noble class, he kept his ears trained for any useful information.

One conversation in particular caught his ears.

"Are those the SOLDIERs they said they'd be sending?"

"Who else could they be? They look military, and see those swords! A weapon of that length would be illegal on anyone not working directly for Shinra."

"I must say, I wasn't expecting them to be so… young."

That was it. "Do you doubt my men's competence?" The edge came back into Sephiroth's voice as he looked daggers straight at the man who had spoken.

He turned to Sephiroth with an expression the lieutenant couldn't quite place, like a hybrid of disbelief and horror. Perhaps he had not realised that SOLDIERs were not deaf. "Oh, no, no, no, I did not mean to offend! Forgive me, I was simply making an observation."

Sephiroth harrumphed and turned away. Angeal sighed, wearing a barely perceptible frown. "Was that really necessary?"

"I will not have anyone questioning our capacity to succeed in this mission. A SOLDIER is a SOLDIER, regardless of age." That sharpness of tone still lingered in Sephiroth's voice. Angeal almost said something, but thought better of it. Though rank may have been meaningless off-base, Sephiroth was the most experienced of the group and highest in class. It wasn't his place to question his actions.

At last, Haakon hurried back to the head of the table. He cleared some of the papers, then cleared his throat. "I hereby call this emergency meeting of the patriarchs – and matriarchs – of Roefrheim to order." Order did not come, as the assembly continued to chat and shoot glances at the three SOLDIERs. "I _said_, I hereby call this meeting to _order_!"

All sound stopped dead.

"Thank you. Now then, we have convened to discuss the unfortunate matter of the disappearances of seven of our runners and free traders. For the benefit of those who were unaware of their coming, the three gentlemen at my right and left hands are the SOLDIERs Sephiroth Faremis, Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley, who have been sent to investigate and neutralise the problem. Firstly, I believe it necessary that we present all the information we have available.

Over the past two and a half weeks, seven people who had leave to re-enter Roefrheim have failed to return. The first three were sent to collect supplies and bring them back to the town, and the rest were sent to look for the first three. All seven of them have been confirmed to have passed through the trading post at Brandrhals. After that, all contact with them is lost."

Haakon looked in Sephiroth's direction, awaiting his input. Sephiroth, however, was busy scribbling down notes and completely unaware that he was expected to say something. Only when Angeal elbowed him gently did he raise his head, but still he said nothing. The rookies exchanged a glance, then Angeal spoke up. "Have you had people go missing before?"

"Oh, many times, but never in such quick succession. Normally we lose three or four people a year, not seven in less than three weeks."

"How do you normally lose people?" Genesis offered his own question, and Haakon opened his mouth to answer when he was cut off by one of the patriarchs.

"It's a monster, I tell you! Maybe a whole pack of them. Whatever it is, it's hungry."

Another of the patriarchs leant over the table to look the man in the face. "Let's not go jumping to conclusions, Ansgar. They could have just run afoul of a snowstorm."

"A snowstorm? Fah! All the reports we've had from the meteorologists say there's been calm weather out there for the last month. Listen to me, it's a monster – "

Eager to reassert his control over the meeting, Haakon butted in. "We are not denying that possibility, Ansgar, but until we have evidence we must reserve judgement." Ansgar remained silent, glaring at anyone who made eye contact with him.

"We've never had much trouble with monsters before. Why now?" Said one of the matriarchs.

"Maybe it's moved in from one of the surrounding areas in search of better hunting."

"What did I say about jumping to conclusions?"

"This is a hypothetical discussion."

"For all we know, that mako extraction facility is stirring up monsters left, right and centre!"

"See, I told you, we can't trust those Modeoheim folk. First there was that matter with Klaes, now this..."

"Matter with Klaes?" Sephiroth looked up from his notes with a head-tilt and a narrowing of his eyes.

Hushed whispers overtook the gathering, with no-one willing to speak up.

"I thought we agreed not to mention that!"

"Well done, Svartr."

"Yes, good job."

Sharp, cold cat-eyes turned to Haakon and held him in a stare. Haakon sighed, fiddled with his collar, shuffled some papers and spoke softly. "Klaes Aljema is the overseer of the Modeo mako extraction plant. We've had some disagreements, namely on the topic of the location of the plant."

"Go on."

"He insisted that the facility be situated within the Roefr cave system, where there would be better access to the mako seam. We refused. We already have enough trouble with earthquakes down here where the mining operations have weakened the walls, and more heavy machinery would just exacerbate the problem. And not to mention the space…"

"Aljema would have the authority to overrule you, though. Why was the facility built in the Modeo ravine, rather than here?"

"The company sent a group of engineers to inspect the area. They concluded that the area was too unstable, and so the plans to build here were scrapped."

"But there's still some bad blood between you?" It was with sympathy Angeal spoke, not condemnation as Sephiroth would have.

A faint, sad smile crept across Haakon's face. "One could say that. Klaes has made some thinly-veiled threats against the town, more on principle than anything else. I think he just wants a warmer place to work."

A new voice, one that had yet to speak, boomed from somewhere to Genesis' left. "I thought we were here to discuss current issues, not skeletons years old."

A weight seemed to have been removed from Haakon's shoulders as he saw an opportunity to get back on topic. "Yes, yes, Mr Arissen makes an excellent point. Your personal grudges aside, do we have any more points of discussion?"

The rest of the meeting consisted largely of political posturing, with each patriarch trying to seem as proactive in dealing with the matter as they could. Most tried not to get their own hands dirty, but a few made offers of assistance, promising their strongest young men and women, and occasionally themselves, to travel with the SOLDIERs and help them discover exactly what was going on. Each of these offers were turned down as politely as Sephiroth could manage, but he still managed to offend at least half of them, and he concluded that only the first five minutes of the meeting had actually been useful.

At last, when no more could be said without repeating what had already been repeated several times, Haakon stood up and cleared his throat again. "I hereby declare this emergency meeting of the patriarchs – "

"And matriarchs!" A female voice piped from near the far end of the table.

"And matriarchs of Roefrheim adjourned. Thank you all for your time."

Almost simultaneously the assembled patriarchs stood up and headed for the door with great enthusiasm.

Once the only people in the hall were himself and the SOLDIERs, Haakon fell back into his chair, running a hand through greying hair. "Forgive my conduct earlier. I struggle with some of the patriarchs, and getting them all in one room can be a trying experience."

Sephiroth nodded. "I can see why."

"Now, I'd recommend you start by heading to Brandrhals. It's a trading post about twenty miles south of here, at the west end of a ridge." Haakon pushed forward a folded piece of paper, which, as Sephiroth opened it, turned out to be a map. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Any further questions?"

Sephiroth and Angeal shook their heads, but Genesis spoke up. "It's not exactly relevant, but if this cave system is full of some dangerous gas, why do you live down here?"

"It's warm here, and it's safe here. It may be overcrowded, but the standard of living in here is a lot higher than out in the remote villages." The reply carried the mildly bored tone of one who had made the same explanation many times.

Such an explanation, that felt overdone even when hearing it once, did not satisfy Genesis. "But surely the people must still have problems with it?"

Haakon looked down at his hands, and hesitated for a moment. "Sometimes we will lose the very young or very weak. Most people have a persistent cough, but we're a hardy breed." Genesis still looked unimpressed. With that, excuses disguised as goodbyes were made, and the trio left the hall and the mayor behind them.

"Was there really any point to that?" Genesis buried his hands in his pockets as they walked back to where they thought the Red Dog was. One could never be completely sure of where things were in the warren of towers.

Angeal sighed. "Well, we did put the incident in context, and we have an idea of where we're going. Other than that, I'd say we wasted an hour we could have spent preparing."

"That context is unlikely to be relevant. Even if the mako extraction site is what's causing the monster activity, we are not here to get involved in local politics." Sephiroth scanned the maze of streets and alleys before him, trying to remember which way they had come. Without his nose, he was hopeless at direction finding. It was like being lost in the rain when all the scents had been washed away.

* * *

A good half hour of wandering, and eventually being pointed in the right direction by a man who had seen them walk past his shop no less than three times, brought them back to the Red Dog. With nothing more to do, and several hours of daylight remaining, the three SOLDIERs assembled their equipment and prepared to head out into the snow.

"You off, then?" Edda said as she cleaned a thick metal stein. "Look after yourselves. I expect to see you back here intact."

Bram had also come to say goodbye, and he weaved around the legs of the three young men, almost cat-wise, wagging his entire body. Licks were given liberally, and even with Angeal fussing over him as a distraction it took a few minutes just to get out of the inn and away from the over-excited dog.

The journey out of the caves was just as dark as the journey in, and even with their augmented senses and the relatively straight run they felt a nagging sense of disorientation. Another half-hour and several bumps and bruises from stumbling, walking into protruding rocks and stepping on toes later, the group finally stood at the mouth of the cave.

The guards didn't even look at them, and they didn't look at the guards. Their attention was focused entirely on the vast wall of ice that rose from the ground a hundred feet or so away from the caves. Yesterday they had assumed it was simply a cliff-face, but in daylight it shone like wet steel in a way no rock could.

As they left the valley which hid the entrance to Roefrheim, Angeal and Genesis took the opportunity to marvel at the snow. Like children they darted back and forth, kicking the snow to see what it felt like on their boots. Handfuls of snow made into crude snowballs were thrown at one another, with little success as the two had no experience of the proper method of compacting snow into a projectile weapon. Sephiroth quietly observed their behaviour, mentally noting the patterns and expressions of the mysterious art of play. He briefly considered enforcing discipline, but decided against it. This was a chance to gain some insight into this strange Outside custom.

Besides, it was good for morale.

The rest of the scenery was no less magnificent than the ice-wall that formed half of the valley. Chunks of ice fallen from the sides of mountains formed massive white labyrinths; half-frozen rivers groaned when the sheets of ice on their surfaces met; dwarf willows formed miniature forests around their ankles. They advanced through this desert of ice with equal parts caution and wonder, occasionally pausing to take in some new sight.

Nothing stirred in the desolation. Not a single monster, not even animals disturbed the perpetual, uncanny quiet. All that could be heard for miles around was the whistle of the occasional gust of wind, the creak of ice and the crunch of boots on snow. The air, cool and fresh compared to the stinging, humid gas of the town, was almost perfectly still.

The journey was slow. All three were unaccustomed to travelling through snow – Genesis and Angeal had never seen snow in their southerly hometown of Banora, and all Sephiroth knew of snow was the grey slush that covered Junon in July. This, however, was real snow – ankle-deep, pure white and had probably never seen human activity before.

After what must have only been four or five miles, the short winter day began to draw to a close. The sun sank low in the sky, and none of them wanted to be travelling in the dark. They pitched their tent near an old cairn, its piled stones reaching higher than the top of Sephiroth's head. A few of its smaller stones were borrowed to raise kindling for a fire off the wet snow, and they ate in its warm glow.

Genesis and Angeal chattered to one another, frequently trying to coax Sephiroth into their conversation. It would work for a few sentences, until he slipped out of the exchange and back into his silence.

Soon, the fire was smothered and the three SOLDIERs prepared to turn in for the night. To save weight they had only brought a two-man tent and a pair of sleeping bags, as at least one person would be on watch at any given time. First watch was Genesis', and he huddled outside as Sephiroth and Angeal curled up in the warmth of the tent.

The bastards.

Why did he have to stay out in the cold without getting a chance to warm up? Sure, he'd just had the fire, but his backside had been on the freezing snow, his clothes were soaked and all he really wanted to do was go to sleep.

Still, this was a mission, and he was a professional SOLDIER. If he had been ordered to keep watch, then he would keep watch. His eyes darted all over the surrounding area, and he checked behind the tent, the cairn, the tent again, then briefly looked back at the cairn before settling down in front of the tent. According to Sephiroth, the night would last sixteen hours, meaning he had to sit out here for five-and-a-bit hours. Mercifully it had been decided that they would each take two shorter watches, rather than try to stay alert for the full five hours.

Watch in Basic had been so much easier. Not only were the watches shorter, they took place either in a barracks, where you could usually find somewhere to sit that wouldn't make your buttocks numb with cold within two minutes of you sitting on it, or on the dales to the north of Midgar where the only real discomfort was the perpetual drizzle.

He shook his head, sending his hair flopping into his face. Stop complaining, Rhapsodos. You're not a whiner, even if everyone in Basic said you were. Think about something else.

He turned his head up to the clear, inky blue sky, and smiled. Why was he complaining? He was on a mission with Sephiroth, _the_ Sephiroth. The hero. The man who had been his entire inspiration to join SOLDIER. And yet, somehow, he felt a pang of disappointment.

He had expected him to be more open, more interested in other people, more… more heroic. This quiet, detached man wasn't what he would call heroic. A hero should be sociable, friendly, kind, not like the Sephiroth he had met. The Sephiroth he had imagined wouldn't have left a man to die.

Something in the blue caught his eye.

He turned his head to look where it had been, but it had vanished. Then something else crossed the edge of is vision, and he twisted around to see it. A streak of light danced across the sky for a moment, then vanished.

As he watched, more and more streaks appeared, until they formed great ribbons of colour across the sky, dancing and twirling to some inaudible celestial tune. The aurora had come to look upon the strangers on its land. Genesis could only watch, gaping at the majesty of it all.

Minutes that felt like hours passed as he gazed up at the meandering lights. After the initial awe passed, he realised he had to share this. He unzipped the door to the tent and gave the nearest sleeping bag a shove. "Wake up! You have to see this."

Angeal grunted from within the bag, prompting more shaking. He pulled himself out and looked at Genesis from beneath tousled hair. "Genesis? Is something wrong?"

"You have to see this, Angeal! Wake Sephiroth, come on."

Angeal grumbled and shook the sleeping bag next to him. Sephiroth awoke with a start, staring around with wild eyes. "What's going on?"

"Genesis says we need to see something." Angeal spoke softly to reassure the obviously startled lieutenant.

Without a word, Sephiroth rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and followed Angeal and Genesis outside.

All they could do was stare. Angeal's mouth fell open in a gasp, and Sephiroth's eyes widened. In silence they watched the northern lights illuminate the sky.

The spell was broken by Sephiroth. "Genesis?"

"Hm?"

"What colour is it?"

Genesis hesitated for a moment, surprised that Sephiroth couldn't tell. "It's green." Green wasn't a normal colour for a SOLDIER to lose sight in – red was more common – but it wasn't unheard of. "Can't you see green?"

"I can't see colour at all. I never have been able to, at least not that I can remember."

"Never? That must be depressing, never having seen colour."

"Not really. I don't know what colour is, so I don't feel like I'm missing anything."

"But… if you don't know what colour is, why did you ask me?"

"Curiosity, mainly. It intrigues me how people can attach so many words to what to me looks like the same shade of grey. I think the term is grey, anyway."

"It would be grey, yeah." Angeal said with a soft, good-natured chuckle.

Sephiroth gave a cautious smile in response, the smile of one who had never really learnt how to. It lacked the squinting that normally accompanied smiling and was quite disconcerting to one who had never seen it before, but Angeal didn't mind. Little things like that had never really mattered to him.

When Genesis saw that smile, his heart leapt. Maybe Sephiroth wasn't as dead as he had thought.

* * *

_**Extracted From Haakon Leifssen's Official Diary**_

_15/11/1990_

_Still no sign of Stry's team – they were due back five days ago. Am sending a second team to look for them. Chose Ansgar's eldest to lead them, he's a strong lad, and he knows his way about. Sincerely hope he doesn't get himself into any trouble, was hoping he would succeed his mad old father soon._

_This is Klaes' fault. If it weren't for him, we'd never have lost our traders, and wouldn't have to send four young men out to what might be the same fate.

* * *

_

_Apologies for taking so long on this, my muse has been shot to hell. _

_Massive thankyous to everybody who's taken the time to review, I really appreciate it. Huge props and a shout-out go to TVManic2, who has been kind enough to read through my drafts and shout at me to get working on occasion._

_And there's a cameo for my darlingest Clouds on Monday, who has made it her quest to get cameos of herself as a slutty waitress in as many fics as she can. By the way, 'Pála' is pronounced 'pow-la'. It's an Icelandic name. Clouds on Monday is not Icelandic, but it's a close rendition of her name, and Icelandic seemed a bit more appropriate to the setting that plain old Pauline._


	5. Chapter 5

_0017_

_28/11/90_

_Several miles south of Roefrheim_

_Exact location unknown_

Overhead, the aurora still blazed. As it lit the vast fields of snow, the night felt like day. All that was different was the dark sky beyond the lights and the fierce, biting cold. Huddled in the shadow of an old cairn, where the lights could not reach him, was Sephiroth, keeping watch over his companions and trying not to shiver. He had faced temperatures far lower than this, and to shiver would be weakness.

But then, those temperatures had been in controlled conditions where his every biological sign was closely monitored, and treatment for hypothermia was readily available. Perhaps the sensible thing to do would be to let his body do what it wanted. After all, the shiver response evolved for a reason.

No. He would endure. That was his task, his duty. All he lived for was to endure another day. Tomorrow would be no different, but he would endure it as well, and the next day, and the next day. Whatever the company ordered him to do, whatever they did to him, he would endure. He would not complain, for to do so would be to cease enduring. He would always endure.

While he thought, Sephiroth became aware of a vague coldness on his nose. It was an acute coldness in a tiny spot at the tip of his nose, not the general numbness from the freezing night. He brushed it with a hand to rub away whatever had caused the sensation, only to notice small white flecks on his gloves.

Sephiroth shook his head. He was probably just tired, and hallucinating. It didn't count toward Muldoon's ultimatum; it wasn't a bad hallucination, just a few white flecks, and everybody in SOLDIER saw things at times. Nobody could fault him for it.

Something landed on one of his eyelids. Reflexively he pawed it away, but more landed all over his face. It took him a moment to realise exactly what was going on. Those white flecks hadn't been hallucinations. They had been snowflakes.

Sephiroth shook his head. Surrounded by snow for miles around and it hadn't occurred to him that it might have been snowing. Clearly he still wasn't entirely used to the idea of weather. He briefly recalled his first encounter with rain; that panic attack had not been pretty. Then the first time he had seen snow... that had almost had the same result, until Rostis explained what was happening and that yes, it was perfectly natural. No wonder most of the 2nd Praetorians thought he was strange.

A breath of wind sent his hair blowing into his face, distracting him from his introspection. It was for the best, Sephiroth thought as he brushed it out of his eyes, for it didn't do to dwell on these things. More wind made his efforts pointless, sending snow as well as hair flying at him. A few minutes later the wind had become a gale, whipping up the snow both in the air and on the ground until Sephiroth could barely see.

Shielding his eyes, he opened the tent door with short, careful tugs of the zip, reached in past Angeal and grabbed one of the kit bags. His own, as luck would have it. Still half inside the tent, he rummaged about until he found what he was looking for – a collapsible shovel.

Sephiroth locked the handle in place and pulled the door-zip shut, then set to work. Again and again he heaved the shovel through the mounting snow to clear the area in front of the tent. If he didn't, Genesis and Angeal would be stuck inside and stranded. His efforts seemed futile, as every time he cleared the gap more snow would fill it almost immediately. But he had to keep at it. He was on watch, and it was his duty to protect the ones who were asleep, be it from people, monsters or the weather itself. Besides, the movement kept him warm.

* * *

Inside the tent, one of the sleepers stirred, woken by the howling of the wind. To Genesis, waking in the night was nothing unusual. He didn't even venture out of the sleeping bag, rather choosing to curl up tighter and try to get back to sleep. Huddled in the thick, warm material, he shut his eyes and let his mind wander.

His first thought was of how comfortable his sleeping bag felt, followed by a moment of disbelief that he could be comfortable in sub-zero temperatures in the middle of a snowstorm. He then thought with pity of anyone who might be outside in that weather…

Wait a minute.

Relinquishing the warmth of his sleeping bag, Genesis poked his head out. All that was in the tent was their kit and Angeal, who was just as curled up as Genesis had been. Which meant that Sephiroth was still outside.

Genesis scrambled out of the bag and pulled his boots on – he had been sleeping in his clothes, as was tradition for cold-weather assignments. He pulled open the door, only to be greeted by a rush of cold air and snow.

"What are you doing?" Sephiroth's mildly confused voice could barely be heard above the storm.

"I could ask the same of you." Genesis couldn't tell where Sephiroth was, as the wind whipped his voice around and the blinding snow rendered him practically invisible.

"I'm digging the tent out."

"In a blizzard? You'll freeze!"

"I've survived worse."

"That changes nothing. Even if you do survive, Angeal and I can do nothing if you're lying up with hypothermia." Genesis said. The allusion to the mission seemed to get to Sephiroth; he hesitated for a moment to construct a reply. Rather than let him worm his way out of it, Genesis decided to push the metaphorical assault. "Just come inside. We can dig our way out when the storm is over."

Jolted out of his train of thought and unable to come up with a suitable reply, Sephiroth remained quiet. After a brief silence, Genesis saw a figure moving in the snow, unhurried and seemingly unconcerned. He stepped back into the tent as the half-frozen lieutenant finally came inside. Despite being thoroughly covered in snow – his hair was so coated with it that it had frozen into icy dreadlocks – he didn't shiver, or even shake himself off. Genesis was quietly grateful for that, as it meant the rest of the tent didn't get covered in snow.

As he settled back into his still-warm sleeping bag, he realised how small a two-man tent was with three people in it. It wasn't his place to do so, but he did question the logic of cutting that corner. Sure, it may have saved weight, but surely the possibility of snowstorms would have made a larger tent a far better idea?

As far as Genesis could tell, Sephiroth was having second thoughts about the tent as well. He had carefully perched between the two sleeping bags, eliciting a grunt from Angeal as he negotiated himself into position, and was now kneading the groundsheet. Was he claustrophobic? Genesis couldn't see Sephiroth's face, but he could hear the swish of knuckle on canvas. From the vague outline he could see, his lieutenant's shoulders were tensed, and the sound of rapid breathing began to reach his ears.

Genesis hesitated as he watched his superior grow more and more nervous, wondering whether he should say something. After a few seconds, he decided it was worth a shot. "Sephiroth?"

His voice must have done something, as Sephiroth started slightly, as though surprised that there was anyone else there. To Genesis' relief, he let his shoulders go loose, and his breathing seemed to slow. "Yes?"

"What's it like, being a hero?" Genesis turned over to face his lieutenant with wide eyes. The question had been haunting him ever since he'd met the SOLDIER legend, and right now Sephiroth needed some distraction.

It was a simple question, but Sephiroth seemed to be taking his time over it. "I…" The sentence didn't get any further, so Sephiroth swallowed and tried again. "I don't really know." Again, he began kneading the groundsheet.

Genesis raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?" Everything this man said took him off-guard. Was there nothing normal about him?

"I've never particularly thought about it. I don't consider myself a hero. I just do my job."

"But what about everything you've done? All the people you've saved, like… like that child who was being held to ransom by a gang! Don't you think that was heroic?" Genesis' voice rose, both in volume and pitch. He'd get an emotional response out of this man if it killed him.

"I did that because I was ordered to. My orders were to neutralise the gang and extract the child unharmed. I did. The media decided that it was a heroic action. To me, it was just another mission."

"So you didn't care?" Genesis asked, maybe slightly more bitterly than he should have.

Sephiroth didn't seem to have picked up on it. "On the contrary. I cared deeply about the completion of the mission."

"I meant the child, Sephiroth. Did you care about him?" Genesis sighed, looking down at the ground. It seemed that every moment with this man was just another blow to his conception of the great Sephiroth; the hero of SOLDIER, the exceptional leader, with the iron moral code and burning desire to do the right thing. Hah. Did the newspapers even know the man they were reporting on?

He watched as Sephiroth hesitated, as though the man himself had no idea if he had cared or not. What did matter to him, Genesis wondered. Did anything but the mission matter to him at all?

After a minute or so, Sephiroth found his voice. "Again, I don't know. I hope I did."

That last sentence caught Genesis' attention. He hoped he had cared about the child? Maybe… no. Don't get your hopes up, Genesis. You'll only be let down again. Still, that twinge of hope forced him to try and coax something out of Sephiroth. "What do you mean?" Perhaps, just perhaps, there was something human under there after all.

Sephiroth exhaled noisily – not quite a sigh, not quite a humph. "I was concerned for the child's wellbeing, that much I know. What I don't know is whether that concern came from the orders I had been given to retrieve him safely, or… or any interpersonal compassionate impulses."

"I… I see."

"Are you disappointed?"

This time, it was Genesis who ran out of words. "No, no. Not… not disappointed. I just… I wasn't expecting you to be…" he trailed off, fearing that whatever he said next would probably offend.

"Emotionally stunted and socially incompetent?" Sephiroth offered in his calm, deadpan tone.

For a second, Genesis could only blink. Then his face folded into a smile, and a chuckle came from deep in his lungs. He couldn't help it – it just bubbled up from within him, no matter how serious Sephiroth had intended to be. It was just so… so…

"What's so funny?" Sephiroth tilted his head at the steepest and most uncomfortable-looking angle Genesis had ever seen it at.

Genesis shook his head, bringing his chuckles under control but still wearing his smile. "There aren't many who would readily admit that."

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Not completely." Genesis said, but Sephiroth's head did not un-tilt. He would give himself a crick in his neck if he wasn't careful. "You felt the need to justify yourself to me in the generators. If you were as stunted as you say you are, you wouldn't even have thought to."

There was a brief lull in the conversation.

"Maybe," Sephiroth murmured. "Maybe."

* * *

Getting out of the half-buried tent had been easier than any of them had expected. While a little snow had come in through the tent door, they had just about managed to keep it out and still clamber out of the gap half the size of the opening they were used to. Digging out the tent, too, was been less troublesome than it could have been, as they had only three sides to dig out (the cairn had provided some shelter from the wind, though several stones had fallen and, while they had missed the tent, it was mutually agreed that camping there had probably been a bad idea).

The tent itself proved somewhat trickier. The tent lines and pegs were so deeply buried the snow around them had impacted into ice, and no matter how the SOLDIERs pulled they were stuck fast. Ice axes, aided by the careful and creative application of a fire materia, eventually brought them out, but an hour of daylight had passed by the time the tent was packed. Still, they had five and a half hours left before they would need to bed down again, time that would bring them closer either to Brandrhals or their quarry.

To Angeal, five and a half hours was nowhere near enough.

Snow. He was walking in real, genuine _snow_. Not the destroyed polystyrene cups he and Genesis used to pretend was snow and that really wasn't any good for skiing in, this was the real thing. Sure, Angeal had been walking in it for most of yesterday, and even managed to get a small snowball fight out of it, but it had yet to dawn on him that he was actually very close to the Arctic Circle, up to his ankles in snow and a long, long way from his sunny hometown.

This, he thought as he gazed out over the snow fields, is nature at her finest. Away in the distance loomed a ridge, so sheer no snow would cling to it, stark black against the pale snow. Angeal found himself resisting the urge to pull out his camera. No, he told himself. You've got enough photos of the aurora to last you a lifetime, and technically you're supposed to be going somewhere. This is a military assignment, not a sightseeing trip.

Maybe on the way back.

Up ahead, Sephiroth was breaking the trail, but Angeal would have been happy to do it for him. The snow still held its magic for him, and if he had to trudge through it when it came up to his knees to experience Mother Nature's full glory then he would do so gladly.

He watched the snow ahead of him intently, lapping up every tiny undulation in the landscape that, to the casual observer, was featureless. His eyes had always been sharp, and although the mako in his body had made him lose the ability to see the colour red (he now saw it as a sickly, faded yellow), his eyesight had become even stronger since his augmentation. Nothing was hidden from him.

In fact, there was nothing to hide. Slowly Angeal became aware that the vast plains were even more silent than they had been yesterday – no birds flew overhead, and not even the darting of a fox or a lemming disturbed the snow. Had the wildlife seen them coming and fled? He turned his head to either side, looking for anything that could provide some sort of explanation for the silence.

Off in the distance, away to the group's left, was a pile of snow, as though something had scraped it up into a heap. Angeal halted, craning his neck for a better look. Genesis paused beside him with a faint grin on his face and gave him a gentle shove. "Come on, Ang. We're SOLDIERs, not tourists."

"There's something out there."

Genesis' grin faded into a look of confusion as he turned to try and see something for himself. He squinted to shield his eyes from the sun, then gave an incredulous little 'hm' sound, which told Angeal he had at least seen something. Genesis turned back to face him. "It's a lump of snow, Angeal."

Angeal sighed. "I know that much. It's a lump of snow that looks like it's been dug up." Genesis just looked back at him with a pitying expression. "Seriously, take a look for yourself!"

Rolling his eyes, Genesis did so. He squinted so tightly that Angeal couldn't even see the glow of his eyes, and stared at the spot for about half a minute. Eventually he opened his eyes properly, though he didn't turn around. "All right," he said. "You win this time."

Angeal just chuckled. It wasn't often he got to one-up Genesis, and he savoured the moment. Genesis was understandably unimpressed and, resigning himself to his friend's small victory, called out to Sephiroth, who had halted but not turned. "Lieutenant!"

Sephiroth did not move.

Genesis narrowed his eyes, and tried again "Lieutenant!" Still no response. He took a deep breath, put a hand to his temples and sighed, maybe catching sight of the small grin on Angeal's face. "Sephiroth…" With that, Sephiroth turned and padded over to them as though Genesis hadn't just been ignored twice.

"Lead the way."

"Wha – you were listening?" Genesis asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It always pays to listen to your subordinates, even when they don't know you're listening. Especially when they don't know you're listening. Now move."

Angeal's grin widened as he and Genesis broke the trail towards the scrape. Genesis, on the other hand, just grumbled in what Angeal knew well enough to be a good-natured way. When they reached it, however, all grumbles stopped.

There before them, in a scrape in the snow, lay three bodies, frozen solid and half-eaten. Their faces stared upwards, each locked in a rictus of fear.

"What… what on Gaia happened to them?" Angeal knelt down beside the gouge and, with a shaking hand, reached out to the nearest corpse. He recoiled immediately as he touched it, then steeled himself and shuffled closer to it. It – he – had been all but torn apart; most of his belly was missing, as were the organs inside, and one leg had been ripped off and dropped some way off to his right. The arms were a mess, with muscle and bone exposed to the elements.

Genesis crouched down beside him, perhaps a little closer to Angeal than was strictly necessary. One hand clutched at his throat as though he were about to gag.

Sephiroth, ever unperturbed, pored over the corpses like paperwork. He threw the kit bag from his shoulder and rummaged through his files yet again, finding a set of photographs. With a careful, methodical eye he compared the face of each corpse to the photos, putting three aside which matched the bodies. He dog-eared each of the three confirmed photos as a reminder and tucked them away. "It looks like a cache. Whatever killed them seems to be hoarding them for later."

Genesis turned to face Sephiroth with a glare in his eyes. "There won't _be_ a later." His voice rang bitter and cold. "We're going to find whatever did this and make sure it can never do anything like this again."

A thought niggled at the back of Angeal's mind. How could they have just stumbled upon the store? "Why would it leave a cache exposed where anything could get at it? Isn't the entire point of caching food to keep it from other monsters?"

Sephiroth shrugged. "Maybe it's young, inexperienced. Or perhaps something scared it off."

"I'd hate to see anything that could scare whatever did this off…" Genesis looked back at the corpses and shuddered. Again he turned away, still not quite able to look at the maimed bodies for too long.

Angeal caught sight of an odd expression on the lieutenant's face, one he hadn't seen him wear before… not quite confusion, not quite concern, but somewhere between the two. "Genesis," Sephiroth said, "look around. See if you can find any tracks."

Genesis brightened somewhat, a brief smile daring to show on his face. "Yes, sir!" He seemed quite content to stare at the snow around them, and did his task with relish. Angeal watched through one eye as he paced around, looking for any sign of disturbed snow and studiously keeping his eyes off the corpses.

Unsure quite what to do himself, Angeal kept his distance from whatever Sephiroth was doing. He seemed to be completely absorbed in looking at the arm of one of the corpses, running over it with gloved fingers, pausing here and there as though trying to gauge something. He barely moved his head when Genesis called out from his left. "Hey, Sephiroth? Angeal? I've got something."

Glad to have something to do that didn't involve just staring at dead people, Angeal clambered to his feet and jogged over to his friend. Sephiroth took one last look at the arm then followed suit. Once they were both with him, Genesis moved to the side to let them see what he'd found; the outline of a mighty tail, edged by huge, clawed footprints.

* * *

_**Extracted From Sephiroth Faremis' Field Notes**_

_Located three corpses at approx 1130, two male, one female. All three extensively maimed, injury to upper body and limbs, little facial damage. All positively identified – Inga Almstedt, Tomas Solberg and Stry Nordskov, of the initial free-trader party. Corpses were kept in a snow-cache, which was for some reason exposed. Tracks found around cache-site, assuming monster._

_Additional notes: Genesis apparently not fond of maimed corpses. Will bear this in mind on later assignments. Also, rookies seem either unable to remember a simple order or unwilling to subvert their training on how to address officers. Going by experience with the rest of 2__nd__ Praetorians, if it's the latter then it won't last._

_

* * *

_

_She's alive! She's alive! What a wonderful and joyful singing time!_

_First off, I apologise for how ludicrously long a time it has taken me to get this done. Secondly, I apologise for how ludicrously short this is. Thirdly, I apologise for how ludicrously action-less this chapter is (still, it's better than chapter 4). Fourthly, I apologise for using the phrase 'I apologise for how ludicrously…' too much._

_But seriously, this has actually been ridiculous. I will get back into my writing mode. I _will_. Originally I had planned to put one of the key scenes for the entire story in here, but I figured I might as well leave that for next chapter where it can be suitably AWESOME and not pulled down by this piece of elephant dung._

_Thank you all for sticking with me through this. Specific thanks go to NorthEasternWind, for providing an incredibly helpful spork of a draft of this chapter, and to TVManic2 and Clouds on Monday for regularly prodding me to get my arse in gear._

_Also, I noticed a hideous flaw in my formatting ( lost the border thingies between the scenes! Aaaargh!), which has been remedied. Hopefully now the earlier chapters will actually be readable._

_Also, the frozen hair thing? Totally never happened to me. Totally._


	6. Chapter 6

_1134_

_28/11/90_

_Northern Continent tundra_

_Exact location unknown_

Angeal stared down at the prints in the snow. "What _are_ those?"

A ridiculous question, Sephiroth thought. Had the men overseeing their training thought fit to send the 2nd Praetorians, an elite unit, two half-trained – no, half-witted – rookies? The two had been perfectly competent five minutes ago, what on Gaia had happened? "They're tracks, Angeal."

"I know _that_," Angeal shook his head. "What I mean is, what made them?"

Well, why didn't you ask that in the first place? Sephiroth wondered. He truly struggled with some of the nuances and inconsistencies of Outside speech. As for the question at hand… "Four toes, reptilian, clawed, one facing backwards. Quadrupedal, plantigrade, rules out a lessaloploth or a vlakorados. No webbing. Large tail, possibly used as some sort of rudder. Tracks roughly twenty centimetres long. My guess would be some sort of dragon." He had made his guess before he even started speaking, but he knew that technically he was supposed to be teaching as well as assessing.

Angeal and Genesis did not look thrilled. In fact, as far as Sephiroth could tell, they were making an attempt to conceal looks of great concern. Genesis looked at him with the expression of someone who wasn't quite sure if they had heard something correctly. "A dragon."

"Yes."

"How big a dragon?" Angeal asked, a little more open than Genesis in his expression of apprehension. "A dragon couldn't grow that large out here. There just isn't enough large prey."

"Except humans." Genesis said.

Angeal hesitated, briefly turning back to the corpses. "Still, we haven't heard anything about there being mass hunting of the locals until now, so it couldn't have grown too large."

Sephiroth paused for a moment. "Given the size of the tracks, what we know of its behaviour and the size of the bite marks on the corpses, it's probably quite young. I'd estimate it to be three and a half, maybe four metres at the shoulder." Sephiroth's voice became louder and more confident as he spoke. This, he could do. Now the military aspect of the mission had reached the forefront, and he was a good deal better at giving orders than he was at conversing with people.

"So," Genesis turned and grabbed the pack he had laid down earlier, "what are we waiting for? We're here to hunt this dragon. Let's hunt it. It can't be too far – it must have been by here recently, or the blizzard would have covered its tracks."

Hasty. Motivated, yes, but hasty. Yet he made a good point; they were close to their target, and every moment spent was a moment the beast got further away. Sephiroth shrugged. "Are you ready?"

The reply came in unison, "Yes, sir!"

Sephiroth gave a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh, but decided to let it slide this once. "Good. Draw weapons." He pulled his sword from the magnet on his back, and the rookies pushed their kit bags to one shoulder and did the same. "We'll follow the tracks, moving as fast as we can, but don't waste your energy. Bear in mind that it may have left the area by air. When we find it, don't charge straight in. We hang back and assess the situation, formulate a plan, _then_ we go in. From now on assume we're in a hot zone. Be on your guard." Genesis and Angeal nodded. "All right," Sephiroth pulled his bag over his shoulders, "let's move."

* * *

Time crawled by as they walked, the tracks never seeming to bring them any closer to their target. Sephiroth knew that the only way they would catch up to the beast would be if it stopped for whatever reason, maybe to open another of its caches. Still, even knowing this, the tracks were the best – only – chance they had at finding it. If they had to follow it into the night, so be it.

Sephiroth allowed himself to look over his shoulder for a moment to see how Genesis and Angeal held up. He hadn't heard a word from them since they had set out after their dragon. They seemed to be managing; neither looked to be flagging, and both wore expressions Sephiroth had never seen on them before. They had the same look about them that his more experienced men got when things in the field became truly serious. Perhaps, despite his misgivings about their ability to ask sensible questions, they were indeed worthy of the title of SOLDIER. The real test, though, would come in combat – the baptism of fire, as Muldoon liked to call it.

He turned his attention back to the tracks in front of him. They remained as steady and evenly-spaced as ever. No change in the distance between the tracks to indicate a change of speed, not even any changes in direction. The dragon appeared to be going somewhere. Probably, Sephiroth thought, to its den, or another cache site. Whichever, it would stop eventually, and then the SOLDIERs would strike.

Until then, they had to keep walking.

With the midday sun high in the sky, or as high as the sun ever rose in November, they had little daylight left. Maybe another three hours at most. If they failed to find the dragon today, they would probably lose it, especially if another blizzard came in. Then it would be back to the beginning, heading to Brandrhals to start their search all over again. Sephiroth refused to let that happen.

Off in the distance came the shrieking of startled crows to pull Sephiroth back into the here-and-now. He halted as a few tiny specks of black erupted into the sky, cawing wildly at something down below. Then, as though to answer them, the ground almost shook with the roar of a beast.

Genesis and Angeal hurried to his side, trying to get a better look. The distance made it hard to tell, but a blur in the shadow of the ridge up ahead that Sephiroth had assumed to be a dip in the snow might just be their target.

"Is that…?" Genesis whispered, as though he didn't dare finish the sentence.

"Almost certainly." Sephiroth replied. "Ready yourselves, and pick up the pace. We cannot lose it now."

Genesis nodded, as did Angeal. Without another word Sephiroth set off, moving almost at a run. The snow crunched even louder beneath his feet, but until they were closer it did not matter. They could not lose this chance.

His eyes fixed themselves on the shape ahead. Maybe a mile and a half lay between them and their quarry. Sephiroth knew he could keep his pace up for far longer than that, but he wondered about the rookies. Would they be able to fight when they did reach it? Stop worrying, he told himself. Even a Third can maintain this kind of pace for miles and still have the energy to fight. Basic Training made sure of that. He forced himself to quiet his worries – honestly, why was he worrying? – and focus on what needed to be done.

Every minute the shape ahead grew larger and more distinct. What was earlier just a blur began to take on the form of a four-legged creature. While its wings probably lay flat against its side, the massive yet sinuous body told Sephiroth his guess had been right. They had a dragon to slay.

The creature had stopped where it stood. Sephiroth could not make out what it was doing, but he didn't need to. All he needed to know was that it had stopped, and that they had a chance of catching up to it. As he pushed forwards the distance narrowed to a mile, then three quarters of a mile, then half a mile…

Sephiroth slowed to a halt, raising one hand to signal the other two to do the same. They stopped beside him, their gazes flicking between their target and their lieutenant. Sephiroth narrowed his eyes and focused on the dragon. It seemed to be clawing at the ground, as though it were digging up another store. Sephiroth watched intently as the creature reached its head down into the hole it had made. He noticed that both Genesis and Angeal were holding their breath.

"Is this your first wild monster?" Sephiroth asked under his breath. A dragon was not exactly the easiest of first monsters outside Basic. His rookies nodded, still refusing to breathe out. "Well, this could be interesting. I'll attack the front and hold its attention. You two attack from behind and try to take out its back legs – sever the Achilles tendons if you can. And watch out for the tail. Any questions?" Receiving none, he continued. "Be careful, stay alert, keep moving. If it gets into the air, get out of the way. Run if you have to. I don't know if it's old enough to breathe fire yet, but we should take no chances. Look out for each other, and whatever you do, do not panic." He should not have to mention the last part, but a reminder never hurt. Angeal and Genesis shot each other a nervous glance, but said nothing.

With that, Sephiroth began to lay out the plan. Genesis and Angeal listened intently; Genesis looked over his shoulder at the beast, as though checking to see it was still there, while Angeal held Sephiroth's gaze unwaveringly. At last, convinced that everybody knew what they had to do, he gave the command to move.

To start with, both Angeal and Genesis crept forwards at roughly the same pace. The dragon seemed intent on whatever it had buried, scrabbling at the ground and completely unaware it was being hunted. Both young SOLDIERs gave it as wide a berth as they could. Sephiroth watched from afar, in a tense crouch so he could hide or run at a moment's notice.

Almost imperceptibly, the wind shifted. The dragon did not fail to notice this, as its head snapped up to stare right at Genesis. He froze, barely even breathing. Like a car heading straight at a rabbit, the beast held Genesis in its gaze. For almost a minute he waited there as Angeal moved forwards, even slower now – he seemed to have picked up that now was a very bad time to disturb it. With a disgruntled snort, however, the dragon went back to its digging, clearly more interested in that than the deathly still SOLDIER. Sephiroth could see the fear fall from Genesis' body as he moved onwards ever so carefully.

After what felt like an eternity, Angeal and Genesis halted a safe distance behind their target. Now came Sephiroth's turn.

Half a mile still lay between him and the dragon. While he could probably charge over that distance, doing so would just send it either running straight into the rookies or straight at him, leaving the others behind. A degree of subtlety was required. Step by cautious step he advanced, eyes flicking between the dragon and his subordinates. So far, so good.

He stopped every few strides to reassess the situation. The dragon appeared to be growing frustrated, striking at the ground more fiercely than before. It began to gnaw at the ice, focusing all its attention below it. Sephiroth saw his chance. He darted forward, not quite a run, but fast enough to close the distance.

When the dragon lifted its head, Sephiroth was already upon it. Scales like frozen steel repelled Sephiroth's blow to its neck, but that had simply been a distraction as the others took their places. It howled as swords struck at its hind legs, lashing its tail and desperately trying to keep its balance. One leg kicked out at Angeal, but he dodged to the side and brought his sword down once again. The scales kept him from drawing blood, but the beast was clearly in pain.

The dragon lunged at Sephiroth, enormous jaws snapping closed a hair's breadth from his face. Again Sephiroth made another strike at the neck, this time slamming hard enough to break several scales send its blood trickling down his blade. First blood to humanity, he thought as he sidestepped out of the way of the claws intent on tearing open his stomach.

Screeching and unfurling its massive wings, the dragon leapt forwards, forcing Sephiroth to dive to the side. He hit the snow hard, just in time to hear teeth snapping around the air where he had been. The teeth did not stay closed long, as the beast roared in pain when Genesis' blade found its way through the scales of its hind leg. Sephiroth scrambled to his feet and swung his sword at where he had made his first cut, but his target turned, taking the blow on its mighty shoulder.

Despite its size the dragon moved with startling speed, sending its enormous tail hurtling towards Angeal. He noticed it a split-second too late. Hit square in the chest and with the wind knocked out of him, he flew back from the impact with only a gasp.

"Angeal!" came a shout from the side as Genesis darted to his fallen friend.

Sephiroth dashed forward as well, sending flurries of snow behind him as he tried to put himself between the dragon and the fallen Angeal. He felt the tide of battle turning in his bones, and knew that these next few moments counted for everything.

The beast lumbered toward the rookies, only to be met by the slash of a broadsword across its throat as Sephiroth dived in front of it. Still, despite the broken scales, the blade only just managed to slice the flesh beneath. The dragon halted, more in annoyance than anything, and lowered its head to protect its neck. It stared at Sephiroth, as though pondering what to do with him, and for a very long moment two pairs of slit-eyes met. Neither moved, each one waiting for the other to strike. Though the dragon's scales had protected its arteries, it still bled from the wounds to its neck and legs. It couldn't risk opening itself up to an attack.

Angeal had regained his feet by now, and as Sephiroth held the dragon's gaze he and Genesis began the delicate procedure of getting behind it again. Slowly, slowly, they split up and practically glided across the snow. From the corner of his eye, Sephiroth watched. They knew what they were doing, those t –

The feel of the battle in his bones was replaced by the reverberation of an enormous roar. Heedless of the swordsman in front of it the dragon had lifted its head and let out a battle-cry. It tried to turn to the ones trying to flank it, but the gashes on its hind legs that stained the snow with blood slowed it. Sephiroth needed no better opportunity. Another strike at its throat – this time it screeched as blood began to spurt from the wound.

Genesis, to whom the dragon had turned, backed off as though by instinct. Angeal, on the other hand, knew an opportunity when he saw one. When the dragon turned he bore down on its wounded hind legs, to be rewarded with a wet 'snap' as a tendon ruptured. The injured leg collapsed, unable to support the weight of the dragon, and Angeal allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.

In that brief moment, Angeal made a fatal mistake; he dropped his guard. Even a maimed leg could be dangerous, and the split-second reaction it took to avoid the enormous foot hurtling towards him came too late. Once again his chest took the brunt of the impact, a sickening crack ringing across the snow field.

"Angeal!" Genesis yelled, diving toward his friend. The blow had knocked Angeal flat. Genesis stood over him, blade ready to take whatever the beast threw at him.

The dragon's head began to turn, and Sephiroth saw exactly what was happening. Even with one leg ruined, the thing was far from crippled. Another strike aimed at the neck met the shoulder, and Sephiroth knew he only had a few seconds to act.

No matter how much blood flowed from its legs and shoulders, the dragon still moved at a horrifying speed, as though it didn't even register the pain of its wounds. Sephiroth tried to dart in front of it as it moved, but Angeal's injury had had another effect on him; tunnel vision. He had focused so much on getting between the dragon and the rookies that he had completely forgotten to check his flanks; a dangerous mistake, and one he only realised when that infernal tail slammed into him, knocking him sideways. As he lay sprawled in the snow, pain screaming through his shoulder, he could only watch what unfolded. He tried to scrabble to his feet, but his shoulder – had he dislocated it? – wouldn't take his weight.

Despite everything, Genesis held his position as the dragon turned to him, not risking striking out for fear of leaving Angeal open. For a long moment, he and the dragon held each other's gazes.

The moment shattered with a terrible screech as the dragon lunged forward. Genesis dove to the side, but compared to a dragon, and a threatened dragon at that, the speed which had made him renowned in Basic was nothing. Enormous jaws clamped around his leg, tearing the flesh like tissue paper. Genesis bit back a scream as the beast hauled him into the air, crunching bone and shaking him about like a ragdoll.

From their places on the ground, Sephiroth could see creature almost playing with his catch, blood running dripping from its mouth. He shook off the pain, ignoring the probably dislocated shoulder. Charging forward, he skidded to a halt between the dragon and the unconscious Angeal.

His mind raced. On the one hand, he had to protect Angeal. On the other, Genesis was being mauled by a dragon. Moments like this made him hate the fact that there was only one of him. He bit his lip, looking up at Genesis and calculating the best way to strike.

That was when Genesis proved himself.

Despite the pain, the blood and the shattered leg, Genesis brought his free leg back, then, with a surge of energy, slammed his foot into the dragon's eye. The creature roared, dropping its prey and tossing its head back in pain.

That was all Sephiroth needed. With a swift, upwards strike he drove his sword into the creatures lower jaw, feeling the unnervingly satisfying crunch of bone as it entered the brain case. Blood rained down from the wound, covering both him and the prone Genesis in gore.

For a second, the dragon froze, as though more startled by the attack than anything. Then it realised it was dead, and the body collapsed in a heap of carrion. In the instant before it hit the ground Sephiroth hauled Genesis out of the way, leaving the three of them mere inches away from what was once a dragon and was now a corpse.

It took a moment, and the barely voiced swearing of Genesis, to remind Sephiroth that yes, there were casualties and he needed to do something right now. He knelt down beside them, "Genesis," he said as he looked at the mangled leg, "hold on. Let me check Angeal over. I will be right back, I promise. Hang on." Genesis muttered a reply through gritted teeth, which Sephiroth took as an affirmative.

He turned to the unconscious Angeal, listening for his breathing. Nothing out of the ordinary, a small mercy at least. He ran his hands over Angeal's chest to check for injury. He'd heard a crack earlier…. Fracture, first right, third right, fourth left. Unpleasant, but survivable. He'd live.

Only a few seconds had passed, but to the blood streaming from Genesis' leg a few seconds could make all the difference. "All right." Sephiroth said, more to himself than anything, as he tore away the ruined trouser leg. A grisly sight met his eyes.

Flesh and bone were tangled in all directions, blood pouring all over the snow. Fragments of bone poked out of the wound, tearing their own gashes in the already miserable limb. Sephiroth took in a sharp breath, readying himself. "All right," he said again, "Genesis. I'm going to have to set the bone before I can heal it. Curing a bone in that shape would just leave it deformed. What I'm trying to say is… this is going to hurt. Rather a lot."

"Just get on with it." Genesis said, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut.

Sephiroth set his jaw. No time for gloves or med-kits, he dived straight in. First he found the major artery that the dragon had torn, and, with careful movements, brought it together. A small burst of magic fused the torn ends, enough to keep Genesis from bleeding out, at least for now. Then came the unpleasant part.

Sephiroth started with the larger fragments of bone – the tiny slivers could wait. Genesis' whole body tensed as Sephiroth pulled the bone together, piece by piece. One fragment followed another, pulling flesh this way and that, catching nerves and bringing Genesis' hands into tightly-balled fists.

"You can scream if you want." Sephiroth said as he pulled a chunk of bone free of the connecting tissue that held it. With one hand he held the rebuilt bone together; with the other he manipulated the pieces back into place.

"I'm fine." Genesis didn't look fine to Sephiroth, but now was not the time for an argument.

Bit by bit the bone came together. The scream that he knew hung in Genesis' throat, waiting to be let out, impelled him to work faster He let the tiny fragments be; he was a field medic, not a trauma surgeon, and here was only so much that could be done. The last couple of fragments were slotted into place when a noise brought Sephiroth's attention behind him - more specifically, the grunt of a man with three broken ribs and one hell of a headache.

"Ow…"

"Angeal!" both voices rose, neither making any effort to conceal their relief.

"Feel like I've been hit by a – what the – what happened? Gen, are you - ?" Angeal's eyes widened to saucers, and he fell to his knees beside his friend.

"I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"There was an incident. It culminated in Genesis kicking a dragon in the face."

Angeal swallowed a lump in his throat. "Dammit, Gen… I'm supposed to be the one looking out for us!"

"Come on… don't be so – akgkh! – hard on yourself…" Even as Sephiroth pushed the last piece of bone into place, Genesis managed a smile. Angeal gave his own smile, though it lasted only a second as a wince took over.

"Augh!" Angeal's face wrinkled as he clutched at his chest.

"Careful. You've broken three ribs, and you've probably bruised a lot more. Here," Sephiroth motioned with his head to Genesis' leg. "Do you have a Cure materia?"

Angeal swallowed a lump in his throat. "Y-yes."

"Good. As I heal the bone, I want you to heal the flesh. Let's make this as quick as possible."

"Right." Angeal nodded, shuffling over to where he could reach the wound. Genesis muttered a thank-you at the prospect of getting it over with.

Sephiroth slowed his breathing and focussed on the energy in his wrist. Finding what he needed, he drew upon the magic and poured it into the bone, feeling Angeal's magic draw the muscle and skin together. Tiny cracking noises heralded the bone fusing together, pieces reforming after being warped by the crushing.

In a moment, the wound was gone, replaced by a hideous, ragged scar.

Only then did Genesis allow his breathing to lose control.

"Are you all right?" Sephiroth tilted his head, looking down with what he hoped was the proper expression for the concern he felt.

"I'm… I'll tell you in a minute."

A minute turned into several as Genesis caught his breath. Sephiroth took advantage of those minutes and healed the fractures in Angeal's ribcage, though Angeal was less than thrilled about his blood-soaked hands being anywhere near him.

"Okay," Genesis pulled himself up into a sitting position, still not risking moving his bad leg. "I think I'm okay."

* * *

The decision to set up camp there and then had been unanimous. Sephiroth and Angeal had set up the tent – Genesis had been banned from any physical exertion by an overzealous Angeal. Sephiroth had taken first watch, wary of scavengers that would be attracted to the corpse. Even without his sense of smell he knew that the scent of death carried a long way, and never went unnoticed.

Questions flew round his head, not least his confusion as to the way the dragon fought. While he had never fought a dragon before, something about this one just felt odd. It had made stupid mistakes, like showing its throat and pausing in battle. No monster would have done that. At least, no monster that had lived in the wild.

Wait…

Scanning the area for any movement, he got up from his crouch and padded towards the corpse. Its face was in a sorry state – Genesis' kick had completely caved in its eye socket. Still, he had no need of the eyes. He knelt down, reaching for the dragon's lower lip and praying it hadn't frozen in place.

Luck was with him as he pulled down the lip with ease. Sephiroth's eyebrows rose as he saw what was under there.

Tattooed on the flesh in neat, blocky text, were the numbers _4573826_.

* * *

_**Extracted From Sephiroth Faremis' Personal Journal**_

_28/11/90_

_Weather: Cold. Believe this is the weather to which the phrase 'brass monkey' is intended to be attributed. Note to self, investigate etymology of that term._

_Found the source of the problem, apparently Roefrheim is having a dragon problem. Not any more. Hopefully that was the only one, will not be pleased if there are more. Also, dragon had a numerical ID tattoo, will chase that up before heading back._

_Genesis, despite his misgivings about corpses, has proven to be rather resilient. He endured improvised surgical reconstruction of both fibula and tibia without even screaming. Am impressed._

_Apart from the unanswered questions and the injury of both Genesis and Angeal, think it's been a fairly successful day.

* * *

_

_Egad! An update! It's a Festivus miracle!_

_All right, again sorry for the wait, but you're probably used to that by now. I really ought to just throw up my hands and say 'screw it', but I'm stubborn and am going to see this thing through to the end. And all the stories that will come after it, too. _

_And so, to all you nutters wandering on December 25__th__, happy non-denominational wintertime capitalist gift-giving holiday! Have a good one._


	7. Chapter 7

_I think, after seven months of bugger all motivation to work on this fic, we can officially call this dead, or at least persistently vegetative. I haven't really been interested in this story for a very long time, and writing it has been more of a chore than anything, and I really don't want to spend my free time doing something that is, to me, significantly un-fun. Here's what currently exists of chapter seven. It may get finished at some point, but holding your breath may not be conducive to long-term survival. Sorry, all._

* * *

_16:42_

_01/12/90_

_Roefrheim_

_The Red Dog Inn_

The journey back to Roefrheim had been long and slow. Genesis' leg, despite the copious amounts of magic poured into it, wasn't perfect by a long shot, so they couldn't move too quickly. Still, they had been granted one small mercy; no more monsters accosted them on the way. Blinding snow, yes, biting cold, yes, but no monsters, and at the time it was all they could really ask.

Now, back in the warmth of a cave network heated by underground sulphur springs, and with their first meal in days even resembling actual food, they had a moment to relax. In the lull before the workers of Roefrheim descended upon the Red Dog the three SOLDIERs perched at a table, with Bram snuffling at their feet and Edda marvelling at their apparently bottomless stomachs.

Sephiroth nursed a cup of coffee as Genesis and Angeal chattered. Heedless of their conversation beyond a small, nagging wish that they would talk about something relevant, his mind worked over the events of the past few days. The number on the dragon's lip troubled him. At some point in the creature's life it had been in the possession of humans, and no matter how he tried to persuade himself it had probably just escaped from a private menagerie he could not bring himself to rule out foul play.

The problem was, he had all of no experience dealing with politics. He was a SOLDIER, not a troubleshooter. Perhaps his best bet was to withdraw and send in a specialist. Of course, that meant dancing around Shinra bureaucracy to get anything done, which did not appeal to him in the least.

It occurred to him that asking Muldoon for advice may not be a terrible idea, and with that his mind settled down into the unthinking haze he had been taught to maintain. He listened without comprehension to his two subordinates, none too interested in the idle chit-chat of Outside folk.

A fit of violent coughing told his ears that he may actually want to pay attention, prompting him to shake the cobwebs out of his head and scold himself for zoning out. Angeal had his fist held to his mouth, his other hand clutching his chest. Genesis fretted over him, hitting his back and asking far too many questions of someone unable to speak.

For a moment that lasted all too long, Sephiroth realised he was powerless to help. Beyond trying to dislodge anything obstructing the airway, which Genesis had in hand, all one could do for coughing fits was to wait them out. Unsure what else to do, he hovered in the background and clenched his fists in turn.

After a minute or so Angeal's coughs subsided, but he refused to let go of his chest and he winced as he shuffled into a more comfortable position.

"Are your ribs painful?" Sephiroth asked with a tilt of his head. Angeal nodded and winced again as Sephiroth checked for fractures. "You haven't re-broken them. They're just bruised."

Genesis seemed reassured by Sephiroth's assessment, but his frown only lessened slightly. "Is it the gas?"

"Quite possibly. We shouldn't stay long."

"Why should we stay at all? Why not just radio for extraction and be done with this place?" Sephiroth was beginning to grow accustomed to the bitterly quizzical tone in Genesis' voice.

Tempting as the idea was, Sephiroth could not bear leaving a mission unfinished. "While technically speaking we have fulfilled our mission, we still need to establish precisely what that dragon was doing there. If nothing else we should find out to whom it belonged and alert them. If it escaped, they will at least have assurance that it is safely dead. If it was sold…"

Angeal's hoarse voice fell to a cautious whisper. "You're suggesting this was planned?"

"And besides, didn't you say we weren't here to get involved in local politics?" Genesis' eyebrows rose.

"At this point I don't think we can rule out any possibilities, and if someone genuinely planned this then there is the risk that it might happen again."

Genesis buried his head in his hands. "Oh, rapture. Politics."

"You enjoy politics?"

Genesis gave him the sort of look people used when he had said something momentously stupid. "I was being sarcastic, Sephiroth."

Ah yes, sarcasm. His greatest enemy. "I see." In truth he did not see at all, but it ended the conversation neatly.

* * *

Within twenty minutes the desk in their room could no longer be seen for all the papers on it. Genesis's eyes flicked over the minutes from the Council meeting. "Haakon said that all the missing people passed through Brandrhals, but we found the free traders' bodies before then. Presumably they were attacked on the way back. That gives us a possible time frame of when our dragon arrived."

"Or they just missed the dragon on the way in." Angeal suggested, his voice having settled to its usual baritone.

"That's also a possibility, but it will be useful to have a working hypothesis of when the dragon arrived. For now we'll put it at roughly two weeks ago, but we'll discard that estimate if necessary." Sephiroth said as he looked over his own notes.

Genesis nodded. "So, what we know so far is… all the patriarchs hate each other, Haakon hates the patriarchs, everybody hates the head of the Modeo extraction plant and he hates everyone here. This is going to be interesting."

"Indeed. We ought to figure out to whom that dragon belonged before we do anything else. If it was sold, the owner should have some record of it. I'll radio Blackthorn and request a check of the dragon's ID number."

"Right. We should probably check out this Modeo place as well and see if we can get a bit more of an idea as to what exactly is going on between Modeoheim and Roefrheim." Genesis placed the minutes back into their envelope and looked back at Sephiroth, who had pulled their radio unit onto his back. Genesis' gaze flicked to Angeal, who met it with a brief smile, then nodded to Sephiroth as he headed out, leaving the two of them alone.

When the door scraped shut, Genesis felt the cloying awkwardness that always smothered conversation when Sephiroth was around lift. He half sighed half grumbled and riffled through a few more papers. There had to be something on Modeoheim in Sephiroth's seemingly endless piles of intel…

"You okay, Gen?"

Genesis turned with a start to face Angeal, who wore a look that sat somewhere between geniality and concern. "What? Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you're getting defensive about it." Angeal folded his arms and shifted his weight.

"That was after you asked! Something had to have prompted it!"

Angeal shrugged. "I know you, Gen, and I know when something's not right with you. You've been acting weird since we were assigned to Junon, and don't try telling me you weren't."

"I haven't – "

"What did I just say?"

Genesis' shoulders fell. He couldn't lie to his best friend, and even if he tried Angeal would drag the truth out of him anyway. "I… It's just…"

"Sephiroth?" Angeal offered, still fixing him with his kind but stern gaze.

"_Yes_." Genesis blurted out with an exaggerated sigh, glad to have that in the open, and not to have been the one to say it. "I went into SOLDIER just for a chance to meet him, and suddenly he's my lieutenant and it's the most amazing thing ever and then he turns out to be…" Finding no words of his own that summed up their oddity of a lieutenant he resorted to quoting the man himself. "Emotionally stunted and socially incompetent. And the worst part is I know there's something human under there, but sometimes it seems like he doesn't even know how to be human!"

Genesis buried his face in his hand at the shame that burned through him. Sephiroth outranked him, and more importantly had been his idol for the past eighteen months. The man had done great things, and Genesis, the disrespectful little git, wanted Sephiroth to conform to _his_ ideals of normality. He had no idea what to think of this real Sephiroth. It had been so much easier to look up to the heroic, flawless, whitewashed 'Sephiroth' the newspapers had lauded.

Conversation paused for a little while, leaving Genesis wondering if he had stunned Angeal into silence with how much of an ass he really was.

Angeal unfolded his arms. "Better?"

Genesis released the breath he had been holding. "Kind of. A little."

"Well, if it helps any, I've been thinking exactly the same thing."

Genesis regarded Angeal with wide eyes, utterly dumbfounded. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. The man is without a doubt touched in the head. I just try to remember that he's on enough mako to kill a small chocobo, what with his rank, and that it's probably done things to his grip on society."

A faint smile found its way onto Genesis' face. "I guess you're right…"

"I always am." Angeal grinned, and Genesis knew that expression well enough to know he was teasing. He gave Angeal a gentle cuff on the head and went back to the papers, his heart feeling a little lighter.

* * *

Sephiroth's all-too-brief stay in the warmth of the caves had still been long enough for his body to become unaccustomed to the cold outside, and he grimaced as the icy wind struck him in the face.

He worked his way through the valley as radio reception continued to elude him. A long, frustrating walk brought him to the top of the caves themselves after finding a path that amounted to little more than a narrow ledge mercifully cleared of snow. Looking out over the vast expanses he set up the radio as it crackled into life.

He made contact with Blackthorn Ops with little trouble, aided by the height and the impossibly clear air. The radio operators patched him through to Blackthorn's Monster Division with their usual mind-numbingly bored tones. A few minutes later, presumably as they found someone disliked enough to take the call, the MD responded. "BTMD1, send SFS37, over."

Sephiroth gave his response in the clear, clipped tones necessary for radio communication. "SFS37, requesting intel for dragon designated 4573826, over."

"BTMD1, wait one," Sephiroth complied – not much else he could do – as the comms operator on the other end typed furiously. "BTMD1, dragon 4573826 female, approximately two years of age, owned by Sigvard Ljungstadt, location 14 miles N 36° S of Bone Village, over."

"SFS37, roger, any report of dragon 4573826 escaping or being sold? Over."

"BTMD1, negative, over." Sephiroth shook his head. Of course there wasn't. He sighed and appraised the MD of the dragon's current status, then requested a patch through to Muldoon back at Junon. Even more waiting ensued, followed by a brief and pointless conversation with Lunus before he went on a sergeant-hunt, until eventually Muldoon got to the radio.

"SMJ12, hey kid, send SFS37, over."

Sephiroth bit back a grumble at Muldoon's insistence on his nickname. "SFS37, problem turned out to be a dragon, threat has been neutralised, over."

After a bit of lag as the message went from just below the Arctic Circle to the other side of the equator, Muldoon replied. "SMJ12, so you'll be heading home soon? Over."

"SFS37, negative, dragon apparently human-owned, no report has been made of its escape or sale so will be investigating further." Sephiroth filled Muldoon in on the fiasco that was Roefrheim politics, eliciting what he assumed to be sympathetic noises.

"SMJ12, ouch. My best advice would be tread carefully. I hate politicking as much as the next guy, but it'll just make future ops in the region harder if you go riding roughshod over the local hierarchy. Oh, and don't limit your investigation just to the bigwigs. Local gossip can be pretty handy in these situations. You can leave that to the rookies if you want. Speaking of, what do you think of them? Over."

Sephiroth sighed and took a moment to formulate his thoughts. "SFS37, both rookies proficient in monster combat. SRG91 somewhat lacking in discipline, SHA68 more controlled, over."

"SMJ12, roger, you can fill me in fully when you get back. And good luck. I think you're gonna need it, over."

"SFS37, wilco, out."


End file.
